Born for Adversity
by sockie1000
Summary: Reserve weekend. A training jump. At night. Over the ocean. With a storm coming in. Sounds like a bad idea for Steve. Sounds like a good idea for anyone who loves Steve whump. ** NOW COMPLETE**
1. Chapter 1

Title: Born for Adversity

Author: Sockie1000

Summary: Reserve weekend. A training jump. At night. Over the ocean. With a storm coming in. Sounds like a bad idea for Steve. Sounds like a good idea for anyone who loves Steve whump.

Rating: T (for injuries. The rest is fairly G rated.)

Warnings: None, unless you are squeamish. But so am I, so I tried to keep squicky things to a minimum as much as possible.

Disclaimers: The usual. No ownership, no money. Not a doctor or in the military or anything else remotely cool. All I know I learned from Google. And no, I don't own Google, either.

Author's note #1: Thanks, as always, to my wonderful betas Cokie316 and Rogue Tomato. Any mistakes are mine alone.

A/N #2: I have to admit, I thought I would never finish this one. I've been working on it forever. Or at least since February, which certainly feels like forever. And since it took so long to complete, I thought I'd make it my long summer story to keep us entertained until the new season starts. The story is roughly 37k and 14 chapters long. I will post once a week until we are finished, approximately at the end of August.

A/N #3: Due to RL's interference, this will most likely be my last long H50 story for the foreseeable future. I hope you enjoy it. :)

*H50*

* * *

_A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity._

_- Proverbs 17:17_

Chapter 1

The inside of the C-130 shimmied and hummed as it lifted off from the tarmac at Pearl. The noise inside was loud, but not deafening. Still, it was loud enough to make the usual joking difficult so for the time being, the ten men sat in silence as the plane gained altitude. They sat across from and facing each other, strapped in on the hard seats that lined the length of the fuselage. They occasionally made eye contact but largely ignored the small circular windows placed every few feet since the nighttime sky provided nothing to look at other than the dark night. And they would see plenty of that, up close and personal, in less than an hour.

Each of the men were already outfitted "combat light" for their training mission, with a primary and reserve parachute, helmet, goggles, and a rifle. They didn't exactly plan on running into any unfriendlies in the Hawaiian islands but they were going to engage in a shooting exercise after the jump. Plus, it was always a good idea to jump in as realistic conditions as possible and odds were any time you hurled yourself out of a plane, it was for a reason. And that reason almost always involved engaging in combat with an enemy who wasn't exactly happy to see you. That was, assuming they didn't shoot you out of the sky on the way down.

But that was what training was for: to practice and hone your skills, to give you and your country as much of an advantage as possible. Because even though all of them were willing to give their life for the U.S. and had signed paperwork that said as much, they still preferred to make it home at the end of the day.

And make it home they would; each and every one of them.

Steve looked at the men who would share the mission with him; some were new to him, others he had known for years. None of them, other than himself, had been SEALS but they were all former full-time Navy men who, for whatever reasons, were now in the reserves. For some, like Steve, they had eventually chosen a second career outside of the Navy but the life was too engrained in their psyche to ever let it go; others had grown tired of the nomadic lifestyle and wanted to put down roots and gain stability for the sake of their families; some simply liked Hawaii too much to ever leave. But all of them were committed, qualified, and experienced.

However, that didn't mean some of them weren't nervous. After all, they were about to jump out of a plane into the night. Over the ocean. Trying to hit a beach in pitch black darkness. Some nervousness was understandable.

One young man in particular, sitting directly across from Steve, was fidgeting. His name wasn't on his jumpsuit but Steve remembered it from their briefing earlier- Petty Officer Joshua Wilson. He looked like a nice, mid-western farm boy, in his mid-twenties with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He also looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly but Steve knew sometimes the ones who were the nicest were also the most deadly when they needed to be.

The noise inside the plane died down to a manageable level so they could talk. "How long have you had your jump wings?" Steve asked, referring to the military's parachutist certification, worn on the uniform as a set of golden wings with a parachute in the middle.

Wilson looked up at Steve, surprised. "Four years last March."

Steve nodded. The kid had plenty of jumps under his belt, but still, he was way too uptight about the night's upcoming activities. "This your first jump in Hawaii?"

Wilson was obviously embarrassed that someone had noticed his bout of nerves. "Third," he replied. "But first at night," he offered as an explanation.

"It's not any different than a night jump anywhere else," Steve replied, hoping to encourage him.

"Except for the ocean," Wilson said.

Steve chuckled. "Except for that. Steer clear of it and you'll be fine. Here, take Bugs down there as an example," he said, pointing down the row to Wilson's left at a large, middle-aged black man sitting two seats down. "I've known him for eight years and he's jumping, too. And he's _old_. So it must be safe."

Bugs chuckled good-naturedly in return. "For your information, 46 is _not _old. And I'll be the first one to cackle with glee when your knees creak and hurt as much after a jump as mine do."

"Aw, quit your whining," Steve ribbed him with a grin. "At least I'm not making you jump with a stacked duck," he said, referring to two inflatable zodiac rafts wrapped together with their engines and equipment, attached to two parachutes and thrown out of the back of a plane. "Now _that's_ a good time."

Bugs shook his head, grinning. "That's called crazy."

"That's called a light warm-up before breakfast if you're a SEAL."

Bugs shrugged. "Same difference."

"Maybe you're just not cut out for this," Steve told Bugs, giving Wilson a wink, glad to see the kid smiling, his nerves practically melting away before Steve's eyes.

"Not all of us were born with gills and wings and a SIG for a rattle like you, McGarrett," Bugs pointed out. "And I'd rather spend my time elsewhere, but you darn SEALs keep insisting on hurting yourselves. So I feel obligated to tag along to patch you up."

"And here I thought you'd rather stitch us up in the field so we don't come inside and bleed all over your nice, pretty, clean carpet," Steve countered with a grin.

"I'd rather you not bleed at all. All that surgery really cuts into my golf game. How am I supposed to defend my title as the reigning golf champ at Pearl if I have to keep coming in off the links?"

"Well, nobody's going to bleed tonight. It's just a simple jump from twelve hundred. Even your grandma could make that jump in her nightgown and curlers."

Bugs laughed; a deep, hearty belly laugh, his eyes crinkling up and twinkling. "And I've seen your grandma, McGarrett. Her nightgown is big enough to make a parachute by itself."

Steve laughed as well, thinking of his rail-thin grandma, tough as nails, whom he never met in person but had seen in pictures. From the stories he heard growing up, he was pretty sure if she was alive, she would have decked Bugs for that comment. "Just for that, I'm throwing you out first," he told Bugs as he unhooked himself from his seat harness.

"Like you weren't going to do that anyway," Bugs groused good-naturedly.

Steve clapped a now relaxed Wilson on the shoulder and gave Bugs a fist bump on the way up to the cockpit. Even though Bugs was a Commander was the highest ranking officer on the jump, he was a doctor, not a field officer. So Steve, with his extensive jumping experience, was acting as the CO.

The pilot, a Lieutenant named Martinez, glanced up over his shoulder when Steve appeared. "We're about to bank. We'll be there in under thirty."

Steve nodded and looked out the windshield into the night. The moon and stars were clouded over, making the night exceptionally dark. However the lights on nearby Maui served as a landmark and out to his left he could still make out Kahoolawe, the smallest of the eight Hawaiian Islands. Steve looked down at the island and smiled. Until as recently as 1990, the island served as a training ground for the US Navy, who lobbed it mercilessly with bombs for target practice before it was transferred to the state of Hawaii and established as an wildlife sanctuary. Steve still remembered the time his father brought him to Maui and they sat on the beach, watching the fireworks. It was better than the Fourth of July to an eight year old boy.

But neither Kahoolawe nor Maui was where they were headed tonight. Having gaining sufficient altitude into the wind, the plane began banking and heading northwest toward Niihau, the seventh largest Hawaiian island and their final destination. They would jump to the beach on the Kaulakahi Channel, which separated Niihau from Kauai, then perform a short shooting exercise before being picked up via helicopter three hours later. Originally, the exercise was going to last six hours and include an eight mile hike and some additional munitions training, but an incoming storm caused the brass to revise and shorten the training plan instead of scrapping it altogether.

"What's the wind speed?" Steve asked.

"Seventeen mph," Martinez replied.

Steve frowned. The wind wasn't too strong to call off the jump, that threshold was closer to 25 mph, but it was still higher than he would have liked. "And the latest on the storm?" he asked, looking down to gauge the degree of cloud cover below them. If they couldn't see the ground for the clouds, they wouldn't jump. It was as simple as that. But the sight line to the ground level, or ocean in this case, was clear; the clouds were all above them, blocking the moonlight but otherwise not doing any harm.

"As of ten minutes ago, it's almost four hours out," Martinez replied. He turned to look at Steve as best as he could in the cramped cockpit. "Is it still a go?" he asked. Because even though the pilot was responsible for the safety of the men and putting them in the correct drop zone in a safe manner, the ultimate responsibility for the mission rested on Steve.

Steve locked his jaw, looked down at the ocean one more time, then nodded. "Yes, it's a go. But make sure the helo is there in exactly three hours. I don't want my men out there any longer than necessary."

Martinez nodded, then turned back to his console. "Roger that."

Steve nodded back and headed to the fuselage to talk to his men.

Most of them had already released their shoulder harnesses and were milling around the back of the C-130, telling jokes and generally harassing each other. Even the previously nervous Petty Officer Wilson looked like he was having fun and had apparently wrangled Bugs out of the story of how he got his nickname. ("I'm a doctor, get it? Bugs, like Bugs Bunny.")

"Ok, everyone," Steve called over the general noise from both the men and the airplane. The talk immediately died down and the men gathered around Steve to hear his instructions. "We're running an abbreviated training exercise tonight to get out ahead of the storm. The winds aren't too bad now, but they are seventeen mph."

Next to him, one of the men groaned.

"It's still safe," Steve said, turning to the man, "but it will make things more interesting. There's no room for error. If you watch where you're going and guide your canopy correctly, you'll wind up on the beach and not in the ocean." He looked directly at Wilson, who nodded his understanding.

"If you haven't felt the opening shock by the count of four, pull your reserve. You'll be at about eleven hundred feet then so you'll have approximately four more seconds to pull it before you're in trouble. I've already promised Bugs nobody was going to bleed tonight, so please don't make a liar of me." The men laughed appreciatively and Steve smiled.

"Last things: make sure you stay a minimum of fifty feet apart so you don't get your lines tangled. The ground will be a lot closer than it looks in the dark so be prepared to hit five to ten seconds before you think you will. Remember, five points at landing," he said, referring to the points of impact in a PLF, or parachute landing fall: balls of feet, calf, thigh, buttocks, and push-up muscle. "And release your canopy as soon as you hit so the wind doesn't drag you. Any questions?"

The men all looked around and shook their heads. They were all experienced jumpers so Steve really hadn't been expecting any. Still, it never hurt to ask.

"Ok, then," Steve said with a nod. "See you on the beach. Hook up!"

The men all fell into a line and hooked their static lines to the overhead cable that ran the length of the inside of the plane. When they jumped out of the plane, the static line would become taut and automatically pull each man's parachute from its pack. Then the line would separate and remain attached to the cable while the men fell with the parachute inflating behind them.

"Check equipment," Steve yelled. Each man checked his own equipment—helmet, chinstrap, goggles, lines, and weapon—and then checked the equipment of the man in front of him.

"Sound off equipment check!"

Starting from the back, each man yelled back, "Nine, ok!"

"Eight, ok!"

Wilson, standing immediately behind Bugs, was the last one to sound off. "Ok!"

Steve nodded at his men then turned his focus toward the light above the door, waiting for it to illuminate. A few moments later, the green light came on, indicating that Martinez now had them positioned over the drop zone.

Steve reached over and pulled the door open, muscling it up and out of the way. The slipstream outside was easily 100 mph and the noise was almost deafening. But the noise wasn't as foreboding at the pitch black darkness that awaited them.

Bugs was the first one out, executing a perfect jump- eyes open, chin on his chest, elbows tight into his sides, slightly bent forward at the waist with his feet and knees together- complete with a loud "yeehaw!" that made Steve laugh. For all of the doctor's grumbling, the man was an expert jumper who loved every minute of it and never missed an opportunity to go, even when it wasn't required.

The men jumped out in quick succession and mere seconds later, it was Steve's turn. He nodded briefly at the ensign who would remain on the plane to pull in their deployment bags and close the door behind him, and then he jumped out into the night.

Steve held his tucked position as he counted to four. He used the spare seconds to check on his team below him. Although the night was dark, he should still be able to make out the white parachutes. Sure enough, nine parachutes were already inflating below him, slowing the mens' speed of descent to a safe level.

Right on the count of four, Steve felt the opening shock as his body was jerked upwards. He looked up to check his canopy and immediately knew something was off. One of the suspension lines had been blown over the top of the canopy before it was fully inflated. As a result, the canopy was now effectively sectioned into two smaller lobes. In more crude terms, it looked like butt cheeks or was called a "Mae West," in honor of the late actress' amble bosom.

But no matter what you called it, it was bad.

The best case scenario was his lift would be hindered and the rate of descent would be increased. The worst case scenario was the canopy and suspension lines could be burned by friction during the fall and weakened considerably, if not entirely shredded. In short, if he did nothing, he'd be hurt at best and dead at worst.

He checked his altimeter and saw he was already under 1,100 feet, close to the lower limit of 1,000 for activating a reserve parachute. But unfortunately, he couldn't open his reserve chute without cutting away the main one or the lines would most likely get tangled and then he'd have little lift and no control.

Steve was faced with a spilt second decision: keep working with the main parachute and do the best he could, knowing it might not be enough and the speed on impact might kill him; or cut away and activate the reserve, knowing it might not have time to inflate properly and the speed on impact might still kill him.

It was the classic situation where you were screwed either way.

But Steve at least wanted a fighting chance.

He quickly pulled the release handle to cut away his main parachute and then grasped the rip cord for his reserve, turned his head, and pulled the rip cord grip out and then dropped it. He was relieved to see the reserve trailing up into the sky in his wake.

He was a little less relieved when he looked at his altimeter again and noted he was now at 975 feet.

He cursed but there was nothing else he could really do except hang on.

Steve felt himself falling for what seemed like an eternity but then his reserve inflated and he was jerked upward, harshly. He knew he would be bruised later but really, that was the least of his concerns. Because even with the reserve deployed, he knew he was still going too fast. He had now fallen below the level of all of the other jumpers from his plane and he had been the last one out.

This close to the ground, he really didn't have much maneuverability, but he could still increase his odds of survival if he could make it out over the ocean and land there. Water landings were risky and never preferable, but Steve thought he'd rather take his chances hitting the ocean and slipping under the water than hitting the hard ground and stopping with a resounding splat. The image of bug on a windshield flashed in his mind and he really didn't have any desire to become one.

He dropped his weapon to lighten his load and began diverting his course away from the beach and toward the water. It was hard to see much of anything but occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of a whitecap in the choppy water below. But mainly, he just let the sound of the waves dictate his direction.

He was fairly certain he was over the water now and his parachute was slowing him down more and more with each passing second. But he still knew it would be a rough landing. The parachute malfunction hadn't been anyone's fault and Steve was doing everything right. But he simply didn't have much altitude to work with and his speed was still too fast. If he was lucky, he would break an arm or a leg when he hit the water. If he wasn't lucky, he would break his back.

He glanced up at his team one more time. They were now farther west of him, preparing for their beach landing on Niihau, and doing a good job of maintaining their distance to make sure their lines didn't become entangled. However, one parachutist was beginning to break away and change course, heading directly toward him. Steve instinctively knew it was Bugs, coming to his rescue, and he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed that the doctor was endangering his own life or grateful that he was trying to help.

But mainly, he just hoped that when Bugs got to him, there would be something left to find.

The night suddenly became even darker, if that was possible, and it looked like Steve was headed into a black hole. But he simply knew that meant he was almost there.

It was about to be over, for better or for worse.

So Steve did all he could do; assumed the correct position, took a deep breath, and prayed.

And then, he hit.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favs, guys. :) I'm glad you are enjoying the story. For those of you who reviewed as guests, I could not respond so I will thank you here.

Now, on to what you really care about- what happened to Steve. Poor guy.

* * *

Chapter 2

Steve's body screamed in protest when he hit the ocean and plunged deep beneath the waves.

He had been going way too fast for a safe landing and if he hadn't already known that from years of experience, his body was sending the message loud and clear.

Mercifully, he didn't pass out but his vision tunneled, dimming precariously around the edges. His legs and knees felt obliterated and he immediately knew they were injured, possibly seriously. Not to mention, he was so dizzy he was thoroughly turned around. But he was still alive, and he resolved it would all be ok, provided he could make it to the surface.

He unbuckled his chest strap and pulled on his leg strap ejectors, releasing the harness from his body. He used what was left of his downward momentum to slip out of the harness, with only his left arm still encumbered. He quickly untangled himself, then tried to swim away a short distance away to avoid getting trapped in the parachute lines.

It was easier said than done. One kick informed him that right leg was broken somewhere around his knee and virtually useless. His left leg felt intact but wasn't much better, as his knee was so sore it was agonizing to move it at all. If he'd been above water with a ready supply of oxygen and the ability to speak, Steve would have cursed. Long and loud.

But he wasn't.

And he needed to get there quickly if he was going to survive.

The problem was, with his dizziness still a factor, he wasn't sure which way was up. Thankfully, he had a solution. He looked at the harness and then followed the lines up with his eyes, knowing the canopy would still be floating on the surface of the ocean. Then he began swimming in the proper direction.

It was a long, arduous process; his arms had to do all the work as his right leg trailed uselessly behind him and his left leg barely provided any kick at all. As such, progress was slow and Steve once again was thankful for his SEAL training and the ability to hold his breath underwater for minutes at a time. But at least as he swam, his eyesight cleared, the murky edges slowly dissipating from his vision to the point where he almost had a clear sightline.

He continued to swim up, careful to maintain a safe distance from the parachute lines which were being both pushed and pulled by a combination of the current and undertow, like moss tethered to a rock underwater. The last thing he needed now was to get entangled and trapped. He could hold his breath for a long time, but not for forever.

The surface of the ocean was so dark and hard to see that Steve didn't know he was about to break through it until he did. He heaved in deep gasps, the fire in his lungs subsiding with each breath, and instinctively began treading water. He reached down and activated the flotation device, contained in a fanny-pack like device around his waist, and then placed it over his head once it was fully inflated. His G-Shock watch was still on his left wrist and he pressed the correct button to start a timer. Then he took in his surroundings.

He was in the middle of the ocean, but he already knew that. In the distance, he could see the shore of Niihau but could not tell if his team had landed there safely or not; nothing on the beach was visible from his vantage point. He frowned. This was his mission and the men were his responsibility. And freak accident or not, leaving them without their CO did not set well with Steve at all, especially since _he_ was their CO. The only positive thing in his book was the fact they were on a training exercise and the only real danger his men were facing was the elements. Still, he didn't like it and resolved to get to them and resume command as quickly as possible. But at the moment, he had more pressing issue: Bugs.

He scanned the ocean, turning his body in circles to look for the commander. Steve had seen him change course and knew he was out there somewhere. But the building swells made it difficult to see very far.

"Bugs?" he called, listening intently for an answer. But all he heard in reply was the ocean.

He turned his body again, using his hands like flippers to change direction, and scanned the sea for any signs of life.

There was nothing.

However, he did notice that his parachute, on the surface only a few yards away, was beginning to take on water. It wasn't a surprise, really; a parachute floats for an average of three minutes in the ocean before sinking. Still, Steve had hoped it would last longer since it was the only marker he had to signal his team or a rescue party as to his location. Without it, he would be a proverbial needle in a haystack, his bobbing head virtually impossible to find in the vast ocean.

He knew his team would have radioed in for help immediately and it was possible that this very minute, a rescue crew was on its way. But he had yet to hear the tell-tale sound of helo blades beating in the air. And on a night so dark and moonless, it would be easy to see helicopter lights at a distance. He strained his eyes as hard as he could, all he could see was unending inky blackness.

He continued to scan for his friend as the waves kept coming. Steve ducked under them to conserve energy, but they continued to crash over his parachute, which was taking on water and sinking farther down each time. Steve briefly considered trying to dump the water off the chute to try and keep it afloat longer. It would be against protocol, of course, which dictated he should swim away due to the danger of becoming entangled and dragged underneath. And that protocol was for healthy people; ones who didn't have to factor injuries into account. With his legs almost useless, getting free would be much harder. Not to mention, the water was so choppy from the wind, there was no telling how much time he could buy by trying to keep it afloat. Maybe minutes; or maybe only seconds.

In the end, it was simply too risky. He would have to let the chute go. And along with it, most of his hope of being found quickly.

Steve heard the sound of a large wave building and turned around just in time to see it coming directly at him. It was easily the largest wave so far and it gave him a bad feeling about the impending storm. Once again, he ducked under the wave and after it passed over his body, he surfaced again. He looked to his left, to where the parachute should have been, but it was gone.

He was on his own.

Well, not entirely.

Bugs was still out there somewhere, too. Steve was sure of it.

The problem was, he didn't know where Bugs had landed and if he was hurt. Or if he even got out of his harness in the first place before he was dragged under the surface to a watery grave.

But as soon as Steve had the thought, he rejected it. Bugs wasn't going to die; not tonight and not because of him. Steve had meant what he said earlier on the plane. And although the salt water stinging his wounds told him he was wrong about nobody bleeding tonight, there was no way he was going to break his promise about everyone going home. Especially for his friend, who was married to his high school sweetheart, Gwen, and had a beautiful teenage daughter and an 11 year old son in braces.

"Bugs?" Steve called again, louder this time.

Again, nothing.

Wherever he had landed, it obviously wasn't within earshot.

Which meant Steve would have to go find him.

But before that could happen, he needed to know how badly he was injured.

Steve grimaced, not really relishing the thought, but it had to be done. He started with taking off his helmet, which he dropped into the water, letting it sink. It had done its job and he really didn't need it anymore. He felt around his scalp and neck but thankfully, didn't find any injuries other than a cut high on his neck from the chinstrap of his helmet, undoubtedly caused by impact. He continued to palpate his body, working down. His chest and arms all seemed fine; cuts and bruises, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected. He carefully pressed on his midsection, feeling for any firmness or distension, but it also appeared ok.

That was as far as he could go while his head was still above water. He pulled the flotation device off from his neck, leaving it attached to the belt at his waist, and took a deep breath. Then he went under and moved his examination down to his legs. He started with the left leg and slowly felt down the length of his thigh to his knee. The second he touched it, intense pain flared up and he jerked his hand back, popping up out of the water and letting out a loud curse. So, his left knee was definitely screwed up. Without any imaging or a medical degree, he didn't know what exactly was wrong, but at least some ligament damage, maybe a torn ACL. Even with all of his SEAL injuries, that was a new one and it gave him more sympathy for Danny. And crap, Danny was going to kill him, torn ACL or not.

After a few cleansing breaths, Steve tentatively went back under to finish checking his left leg, this time feeling his shin, calf, and ankle. They were all fine. His boot was still on his foot and he didn't want to take it off; even in Hawaii, hypothermia could be a concern when in the water for a long time so he left it on to preserve body heat. Instead, he wiggled his toes and since they didn't hurt, he just called it good.

Then Steve moved over to his right leg. He already knew it was broken and had deliberately saved the worst for last. He started at his hip and worked down. Everything was fine, even though it was all a little (or a lot) tender, until he hit right below his knee.

That's when Steve felt the bone sticking out of jumpsuit. And out of his skin.

The agony of touching the raw bone was so intense, Steve immediately righted himself above the water and vomited. He gasped in a shaky breath and then heaved again. It was pure instinct and training that kept him afloat because all his consciousness could grasp onto was the white hot pain radiating from his leg and the taste of bile in his throat.

Eventually, the pain subsided to a less excruciating level and he was able to open his eyes again. He knew he should probably finish the exam but really, there was no need. His leg had a compound fracture below the knee. He would need surgery and then his leg would be in a cast for a while. He would be virtually sidelined: no running, no tackling, and sadly, no driving. Steve could already envision the gleam in Danny's eye once he realized he'd get to drive the Camaro for weeks on end.

But at the moment, Steve was more concerned about the present and how he was going to get out of his current situation when his right leg was useless for swimming. In fact, he knew the less he moved it, the better off it would be.

If only that was an option.

Steve pulled the flotation device back over his head and looked at his watch, dismayed to see that ten minutes had passed since he first came up to the surface.

Ten minutes, and Bugs still wasn't here.

Steve yelled his name again. Still no answer.

He was done waiting. Broken leg or not, he was going to find his friend.

Steve looked at shore and calculated Bugs' last known position.

Then, he started swimming.

*H50*

It wasn't easy, and it was far more painful and draining that he cared to admit, but he swam. He chose to swim the combat sidestroke, a stroke invented by the SEALs that was efficient and reduced his profile. Originally, it was designed to make a SEAL virtually undetectable in water. Today, Steve used it to reduce the drag on his legs and allow them to trail behind him, minimizing the agony as much as possible.

He alternated between swimming with his head down in the water for speed with holding it up to scan the ocean for the missing naval commander. After a few minutes, he stopped swimming and began treading water again, his head barely above the building swells.

"Bugs?"

His only reply was the wind, slapping the ocean into waves.

He called out two more times, scanning the area but finding nothing, before he resumed swimming again.

*H50*

Three intervals later, he was still doing the same thing: swim, tread, call, look, repeat. Ride out the smaller waves, duck under the larger ones.

Steve stopped to catch his breath and check his watch. It had been twenty minutes since he landed in the water and almost ten minutes since he'd set out looking for Bugs. Based on his calculations, he should have already been over half-way to the doctor's landing location. And still, there was no sign of him. Steve was officially worried.

If Bugs was able to swim, Steve had no doubt he would have done the same thing Steve did; chart a course to his location and head that way. But if he had, Steve should have run across him already. That meant either Bugs had plotted the wrong path (and could be anywhere), or he was too injured to swim. Steve didn't like the sound of either option.

The wind was picking up and off in the distance, Steve saw a flash of lightning in the sky. Great. Just what he needed. The storm was still too far off to hear the thunder but the lightning served as a grim reminder that things would soon be getting worse. And Steve already thought they were bad enough.

"Bugs!" he yelled one last time before moving on. Steve pivoted in the water, looking. And then from behind his back, he heard something that scared him to death.

"You rang?"

And he turned to see a smiling man, bobbing in the water not three feet away.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Steve looked like he had seen a ghost.

He was breathless, his face was pale, his eyes wide, his expression stunned. He simply didn't look well and it was obvious he hadn't heard Bugs coming, both of which immediately set off alarm bells in the doctor's mind. Even in the middle of the ocean with the wind blowing steadily and the waves periodically lapping over his body, McGarrett should have heard him coming, if not from a proverbial mile away, then at least from a few yards. His SEAL skills were simply honed too well not to, which meant something was seriously wrong.

But almost instantly, the shock dissolved from Steve's face, replaced with apparent relief. "What happened to you?" he demanded. "I thought you might be dead."

"I could say the same about you," the doctor replied good-naturedly, deciding to wait a minute before voicing his concerns. He was a straight shooter but years of experience had taught him that sailors were generally more relaxed and forthcoming when you loosened their tongues by joking around first. "I have to say, that was the most beautiful Mae West I've ever seen. You did a nice job with it. The reserve chute," he paused as a wave passed over them, then shook his head, "not so much."

"Well, I was right at one thousand when it deployed," Steve said, almost defensively. "There wasn't much I could do about it."

"True," Bugs acknowledged. He wasn't patronizing; he honestly meant it. "You did well to steer it as far as you did. I had quite a time trying to change course to catch up with you."

"You didn't have to do that. But thanks."

"Don't mention it," he replied, then smiled. "Someone had to save your butt. I'm just glad it was me." They rode up the crest of a wave, then down with the trough, before the doctor decided it was time to address the elephant in the room. Or in the ocean, as it was. "Are we going to sit here and shoot the breeze all night long? Or are you going to tell me where you're hurt?"

"I didn't say I was hurt," Steve deflected, his eyes quickly flicking away to avoid looking at the doctor.

"You didn't have to," Bugs replied simply. "I know you, McGarrett. And you've been in the water, for what," he paused to look at his watch, "twenty minutes? The mere fact that you didn't find me in less than ten means something's wrong." He chose to leave out the rest.

Steve sighed and Bugs knew the SEAL hated the whole situation; the accident, the apparent injury, and especially the vulnerability. It was never easy for Superman to admit he's mortal after all. "I banged up my legs," Steve finally admitted.

"Uh, huh." Bugs said knowingly as they bobbed in the water. There was definitely more to the story than McGarrett was letting on. He reached out and felt for Steve's pulse, relieved to find it strong, if fast, then checked his pupils as best he could in the dim light. "Anything else? Pass out? Headache? Dizziness?"

Steve shook his head. "No. I was dizzy for a second when I hit, but it went away. Other than my legs, I'm fine. Really."

Bugs nodded. "Ok, then." His gut instinct told him Steve was telling the truth, but he was still going to check him over. He carefully palpated Steve's neck, torso, and arms over the SEAL's protests, finding nothing concerning.

"Told you," Steve said, reminding Bugs of his eleven year old son.

Bugs resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Here," he said, handing Steve his combat rifle.

"Wait, is this thing still loaded?"

Bugs looked at Steve reproachfully. "Please, give me some credit. I emptied it out. The bullets are in my pocket." And he had, as soon as he'd come up for air.

"Then why do you even still have it?" Steve asked, looping the rifle's strap over his head across his shoulders. "It's just dead weight."

Bugs shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought it might come in handy."

"For what?"

"Oh, you know." Bugs ducked under a wave, then took off his helmet and handed it to Steve. "For clubbing sharks or something."

Steve looked at him incredulously as he placed the helmet on his head. "We're in the middle of the ocean, at night, with a storm coming and you're worried about _sharks?"_

"Let's just say I'm rationally concerned."

Steve snorted. "You sound like my partner."

"Then your partner must be a smart man."

"He thinks so."

"Is he right?" Bugs asked, taking off a small pack and offering it to Steve, glad to keep him talking. He mentally crossed off any severe head trauma since the lieutenant commander was making sense.

"Sometimes," Steve replied. "But not when it comes to anything related to the ocean. Then he's exceedingly _irrational._" He took the pack from the commander and slung it over his other shoulder. "And how did you not drown with all this extra gear?"

Bugs laughed. "Come on, man. I might not be a SEAL but I can swim, just the same as you. If I couldn't, I would have joined the Army." Then his expression turned serious. "You know I've got to go down and take a look."

Steve paled and if Bugs didn't know better, he would have sworn he'd seen McGarrett shudder. Which made him wonder just how bad it really was.

"It's too dark to see anything," Steve pointed out as he rode atop another swell. He was rewarded with saltwater in his mouth, which he quickly spit out.

The doctor wasn't fooled; he knew evasion when he heard it. "Maybe. But while my eyes may need light to see, my hands don't. So unless you want us to get really intimate really quickly, I need you to level with me. How bad is it?"

Steve sighed heavily. "My left knee is banged up pretty good. I can't use it much. And my right leg is broken, right below the knee."

"Simple or compound?" Bugs asked, referring to the type of fracture.

"Compound."

Bugs pressed his lips together into a firm line. A compound leg fracture anywhere was bad news; they required careful care and monitoring or the use of the leg could be permanently impaired. And that was when a patient was in a sterile environment. But a compound fracture in the ocean… it was terrible news in more ways than one. He had no choice but to examine it.

"Ok. Thank you for your honesty, but I still need to check it out. It won't be pleasant, but it's for your own good."

"You don't happen to have a morphine pop with you, do you?" Steve asked, referring to an actual lollipop that contained fentanyl, one of the military's more recent inventions. He looked like he was only half-joking.

Bugs shook his head sadly. "Nope. Mainly just some soggy bandages and Neosporin. But I do think there's some Tylenol in there. Do you want it now or later?"

Steve swallowed convulsively. "Later," he said, quickly.

So quickly, in fact, that Bugs wondered if he needed to add nausea to McGarrett's list of symptoms. "You gonna get sick on me?" he asked.

Steve shook his head. "I hope not."

Bugs nodded and removed a bright yellow Spyderco salt knife from a pocket on his jumpsuit, popping it open to reveal a steel blade. Then he took off his flotation device, handing it to Steve for safekeeping. "Ok then. Back in a jiffy."

And with that, he ducked under the surface and was gone.

*H50*

Steve continued to tread water and ride out the waves, trying to think of anything and everything other than the impending pain. He scanned the sky, looking for a rescue helicopter, but he didn't see anything but dark, rolling clouds. Then he looked for the beach, trying to see if they were close enough to signal someone for help. But they were still too far away; he couldn't see any of his men and even the tall palm trees lining the sand looked like tiny sticks. He gauged the distance to shore, trying to estimate how long it would take to swim there…

Then Bugs touched his leg.

At first, he was just slicing through Steve's jumpsuit to open the hole to get a better look. That, Steve could tolerate.

But then he began examining the break.

Steve gritted his teeth, suppressing the scream he so desperately wanted to emit. Still, a sound somewhere between a grunt and a cry managed to slip out, much to his chagrin.

The doctor was gentle with his touch, probably more so than Steve had been when he felt his leg, but still, it was agonizing. He squeezed his eyes tightly and heaved in deep breaths, trying to block out the pain. He wasn't exactly successful, as the inhaled then quickly sputtered out saltwater proved, but he continued trying until he heard Bugs' voice nearby.

"Easy, McGarrett," he commanded, his words authoritative but his tone as soft as melted butter.

Steve opened his eyes to see the doctor treading water right beside him, his arm grasping Steve's upper arm firmly.

"You ok?" Bugs asked, his eyes concerned.

Steve took a few more deep breaths, then nodded.

Bugs didn't look convinced, but he let it slide as they rode a wave up, then back down. "I was afraid you were going to pass out."

Steve offered a wan smile as he rode the trough of a wave. "Yeah. Me, too."

Bugs chuckled lightly. "And here I thought you SEALs weren't afraid of anything."

"Only of losing control," Steve replied, his respiration beginning to normalize as the pain began subsiding.

"Ain't that the truth." Bugs smiled lightly, then squeezed Steve's arm once before letting go. He reached over and took back his flotation device, secured it to his body, and then pulled his pack over Steve's head. He opened it up, mindful to keep it above water level so the supplies wouldn't float away, and began rummaging around. "Still want the Tylenol?" he asked.

"Please."

Bugs nodded, then pulled out two bottles before closing the pack and looping it around his shoulder. "Ok, I can give you four." He opened the bottle, carefully shook out four tablets, and handed them to Steve, who quickly dry-swallowed them. Then he opened the other bottle. "You're going to need these, too," he said, cresting a wave as he handed over two more tablets.

"What are they?"

"Cipro. You're going to have all sorts of nasty infections from the water getting into your open wounds. I'm just trying to get a jump on them."

"Great," Steve muttered before swallowing them as well. He hadn't thought of the infection angle yet. He had been so busy either assessing the situation or trying to find Bugs that the threat of infection hadn't even blipped on his radar. But that would be a problem for later. Because right now, getting out of the ocean was his top priority.

"I've been looking at the shore," Steve said, glancing at it and then back to the commander. "I think we can make it in thirty, thirty-five tops as long as the wind and waves don't pick up too much."

Bugs shook his head as he put the bottles back in the pack and removed a roll of gauze, tucking it into his chest pocket. "No way. Not with your leg."

"I can do it," Steve protested, his face contorted in indignation. "I'll be a little slower than normal, but it will work."

"I'm not worried about your time, Steve. I'm worried about your leg. You have a nasty break and if you aggravate it more, I'm not sure how much use you'll get out of it later."

"Then I'll just swim with my arms. It's what I've been doing already."

Bugs looked skeptical.

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but that storm is coming," Steve said as a perfectly timed flash of lightning lit up the night and a not-so-distant rumble of thunder echoed in the air. "We can't wait around forever. We'd be endangering the entire helo crew if they're out here looking for us when it hits." Steve saw the crack in Bugs' resolve and pressed further. "You know I'm right."

He was right. And Steve knew he had just hit upon the one thing Bugs could not argue against: endangering people needlessly. Because even though Bugs was a doctor, rightfully concerned about his patient's well-being, he was also a commander in the US Navy. He felt responsible for his men and would never put one of them in harm's way if there was another option.

Bugs sighed heavily and Steve knew that he had won.

"Ok," the doctor said, clearly unhappy but choosing the lesser of two evils. "But we do it my way. Which means we splint your leg before we go anywhere."

"How are you going to do that? We don't have anything for a splint. Or any supplies."

"I'll improvise. Hold on." Bugs ducked under the water, then came back up a minute later, holding both of his boots.

"Hey," Steve objected, his brows knit together in concern, "you need those to keep warm."

"Thanks for pointing that out."

"If you need boots, you could use mine," he offered as they rode out another swell. "I don't need the extra weight anyway."

Bugs shook his head. "I'm not doing anything to compromise your care or risk jostling your leg any more than I have to. My boots will do fine." He hastily shoved the yoke of one of his boots into his mouth and began untying the laces of the other with his two free hands. Seconds later, he had the lace out and let the boot drop into the water, where it sank. Then he pulled the other boot out of his mouth and did the same thing again.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"You'll see." He dropped the other boot and put both of the shoelaces in his mouth before taking his helmet off Steve's head and placing it back on his own. Then he held out his hands. "Now give me the rifle," he mumbled around the laces.

A slow grin spread across Steve's face. "Well, look at you… the MacGyver of the medical profession."

"I've been called worse. The rifle?"

Steve handed it to the waiting man who slipped it over his shoulder.

Everything now in place, Bugs looked at Steve solemnly. "This isn't going to be fun."

"I didn't think it would be."

"Ok, then. I need you to float on your back; try to stay still and let the flotation device do the work for you. Breathe as evenly as possible. And don't be afraid to yell if you want to."

"You're not exactly inspiring confidence," Steve replied as he gingerly switched from treading water to floating.

"I'm not trying to. I'm just trying to keep you from passing out." Bugs positioned himself near Steve's right leg, which was now just below the surface. "You ready?"

Actually, he wasn't. But waiting wasn't going to make things any better. So he looked down the length of his body to Bugs and nodded.

"You might want to close your eyes," the doctor warned.

"Just do it."

And he did.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Steve had only thought the pain was bad before.

But the second Bugs began lifting his leg and maneuvering the bone back inside his skin, Steve couldn't help but take the doctor's advice. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. And he yelled.

It was a manly and dignified sound, of course, but he was yelling nonetheless and he hated doing it. But he really had no other outlet for his anguish.

Steve wasn't sure how long it lasted, but it seemed like an eternity.

He was vaguely aware of what was going on but it was all simply measured in degrees of agony. He actually thought he might pass out a few times, with Bugs' yelling back at him to breathe the only thing reminding him to do so. Then, when the pain crescendoed to an intolerable level, he thrashed, his head dipping below the surface despite the flotation device, as he swallowed in huge gulps of water. It happened once, then twice, and each time Steve would quickly return to the surface, sputtering and coughing violently to hack up the water, the additional movement jarring his already battered body. And each time, Bugs would stop and assist him, patiently wait until the coughing fit passed before continuing his ministrations.

Finally, the pain began to subside and Steve slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was still on his back with Bugs now at his side, supporting him to help keep him afloat as they bobbed in the ocean, riding out the swells that came their way. He opened his eyes and noticed they were wet. He didn't remember opening them underwater but he preferred that scenario to the one that was more likely the truth.

And his leg… well, it was still on fire, but it felt sturdier now; more secure. He took a quick glance down. His swollen leg was now more straight, the bone no longer visible with the wound wrapped in wet gauze and the rifle serving as a makeshift splint. It was held in place by the helmet, fastened by its straps around his knee, and the two shoelaces, each wrapped around his leg multiple times- one on his thigh, one mid-calf.

"So, what do you think?" Bugs asked, graciously ignoring everything that had transpired during the procedure.

Steve let the back of his head drop into the water and looked up at the sky. "I think that's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

Bugs chucked. "That, it is. But it'll get the job done."

Steve breathed in and exhaled several deep, ragged breaths as he continued to try and manage the pain down. "I'm never letting you near me again."

"Just remember, it was your idea," the commander reminded him, his words slightly garbled as the waves washed in, then out, of Steve's ear. "I was happy just to float here and wait for rescue, but noooo- you wanted to go swimming."

"Yeah, well…" Steve took in another deep breath, "next time, ignore me."

"Let's just make sure there's not a next time."

Steve swallowed convulsively. "Deal."

*H50*

Five minutes later, Steve felt recovered enough to start swimming.

"You're sure about this?" Bugs asked, still concerned. Steve was still pale, his breath still a bit shaky. "We can wait another minute or two, let you rest up some more."

Steve shook his head, his body already switching from floating to treading water. "I'm good. Let's go."

At first, they swam in silence, the only noise coming from the wind, the never-ending waves, and the peals of thunder that were getting louder and closer with every passing minute. Bugs swam slightly to the right and behind Steve, watching him closely. But he had to hand it to the SEAL, he was determined and looked like he was swimming as if nothing was wrong. Well, that was probably an exaggeration. It probably looked like McGarrett's swimming was fine to an average citizen. But to Bugs' medically trained eye, Steve was starting to show signs of distress. His movements were slower, his breathing heavier.

After three minutes, the timer on Steve's watch went off and he transitioned seamlessly from a swimming stroke to a float. Bugs knew McGarrett didn't want to take a break so soon, but that was one of the doctor's conditions: swim for three, rest for one. At the time, Steve had argued against it, saying they needed to press on as quickly as possible to outrun the storm. But Bugs was adamant and eventually resorted to pulling out the rank card. It wasn't one he used often, but it was handy to have when he needed it. Steve had no choice but to agree.

"How are you doing?" Bugs asked, swimming up and visually inspecting McGarrett's leg. He was glad to note that the splint was holding up but discouraged to see his leg looked slightly more swollen.

"Fine."

"Uh huh." Bugs reached out, taking Steve's wrist between his fingers.

"You sure say that a lot," Steve grunted.

"I just figured it was more polite than calling you a liar to your face."

"Hey-" Steve started to protest, but Bugs cut him off.

"Shhh." The doctor looked at his watch and counted, then released his patient's wrist and gently lifted his leg. He relocated to the inside of Steve's right ankle, where he had previously loosened but not removed the boot, and repeated the process. After a minute, he let go.

"Am I going to live, Doctor?" Steve quipped, his tone sarcastic but lacking any real bite.

Bugs smirked. "For now." He played it light but the truth was, Steve's pulse was faster than the last time he had checked. Naturally, some of the increase was due to swimming, but not all of it. He would have to keep a close eye on him.

Steve closed his eyes, breathing heavily, and rested for a moment, letting the floatation device hold him up before he smiled.

"What is it?" Bugs asked, getting a little saltwater in his mouth from a swell in the process.

Steve looked over at the doctor, who was treading water right beside him. "I was just thinking about how much you probably wished we had jumped with that stacked duck right about now."

"Compared to the alternative…" Bugs tilted his head, thinking about how useful a zodiac with a motor would be at the moment, and conceded. "Yeah, I'd take one. Wouldn't be any crazier than this."

"So why do you still do it?"

"Do what?"

"Jump. As a doctor, it's not required and I doubt you need the jump pay."

Bugs shrugged. "I'm an adrenaline junkie and Gwen won't let me get a motorcycle. Jumping out of a plane every other month is the next best thing."

"You somehow convinced her that _this_ is safer?"

"Well, usually it is, tonight notwithstanding. I guess she'd rather take her chances with the Navy than with tourists in rental cars who are too busy gawking at the sights to actually pay attention to where they're going. At least the Navy has safety procedures in place. Besides," he added with a grin, "it gives me some great stories. Who's ever going to believe I set Steve McGarrett's leg with a rifle and a helmet while floating in the middle of the ocean? I'll have bragging rights for years."

Steve chuckled in spite of himself. "Well, feel free to leave out some of the more colorful details."

Bugs nodded, knowing exactly what Steve was talking about. "I wouldn't dream of telling it any other way." Then he looked at his watch. "Minute's over. You ready?"

Steve slipped onto his side, reset his timer, and nodded. "Let's go."

*H50*

The next three minutes were harder than the first.

Steve's arms were tired but holding up ok so far. The same could be said for his lungs. The rest periods helped both and he was grateful Bugs had insisted on taking them over his protests.

His right leg, on the other hand, were getting worse with each passing minute. The splint had definitely helped in the stability department but the added bulk made swimming more difficult and had significantly increased the drag on his leg. He had to clench his jaw while swimming to avoid inadvertently crying out from the pain.

Still, Steve hid it well. At least he thought he did. He could sense Bugs hovering beside him, something he hadn't known it was actually possible to do while swimming. But apparently, it was. The doctor had also given Steve a concerned look after taking his pulse during their second stop, but he didn't say anything about it. And to Steve, that was as good as a win.

"How's your left knee doing?" Bugs asked conversationally as they floated for their scheduled minute. Steve wasn't sure if he was really worried about it or if he was just trying to shift Steve's focus away from the pain still radiating from his broken leg.

"It's fine."

"Any pain?"

"Some. But not too much. I guess it's all relative." And it was. His right leg was screaming at him so loudly that all other pain seemed to get lost in the noise.

Bugs nodded. "The knee injury alone would put most men on their backs."

"Yeah. My partner tore his ACL a year or two ago. He had to use a cane and take it easy for a while."

"Well, if he was mobile and not lying in bed for weeks, then he's a tough bird."

"He is."

"Is he Navy, too?"

"Nah. He's from Jersey."

Bugs laughed. "Well, that would explain it. They do grow a special breed there."

"That they do."

"So, what's he like?"

"Danny?" Steve asked. He ducked under a wave, taking the moment to think, then resumed speaking once he resurfaced. "He's loyal, protective, and very opinionated. He loves to complain about pretty much everything. And he's hopeless with technology. But he's also a good cop, a great partner, and a hell of a dad." The lengthy explanation left him short of breath.

"Sounds like my kind of person."

"I'm sure you'll get to meet him, probably sooner than later." He took a few deep breaths before continuing. "He's my emergency contact and trust me, he's going to have plenty to say about all of this," he added, waving in the direction of his legs.

"I can hardly wait," Bugs said with a smile.

Steve sighed. "Yeah, well, that makes one of us."

*H50*

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed closely by a rumble of thunder as they began swimming for the third time. The storm was getting closer and the sooner Bugs had his patient out of the water, the better he'd feel.

The coastline was still far away, too far in his book; and the sky was getting more and more dangerous for a rescue helicopter that he still didn't see. It looked like it would be up to him to get McGarrett safely out of the ocean.

And the odds of that happening seemed to be diminishing by the minute.

Steve's breathing was becoming increasingly labored and his swimming strokes weaker. But like any SEAL, he was a trooper. Actually, he was more than that; he was almost invincible. "Almost" being the operative word. Because SEAL or not, there was only so much the human body could take before it gave out. And it was apparent McGarrett couldn't hold on forever, even if he thought he could.

But for now, Bugs let him swim, knowing that was the fastest way to get him out of the water, which was his top priority. But soon, that would have to change. Steve would need some strength left for the inevitable surgery and probable infection and if Bugs let Steve wear himself out now, there would be nothing left for when he really needed it.

Bugs thought the timer on McGarrett's watch would never go off, signaling the rest period, and secretly wondered if the man had set it for a longer than three minutes. But then finally, it beeped. He glided up beside the SEAL and looked him over.

The pain and exertion were taking their toll on Steve and he had given up any pretense of treading water, instead floating upright solely by the floatation device around his neck. His respiration was fast and shallow, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes closed. It was obvious his body was in distress.

And if Bugs had any doubts about that, the rapid pace of Steve's pulse confirmed his opinion. He gently released Steve's wrist, glanced at the still empty sky, and then at the shoreline. It remained too far away but it was still their best bet.

"Can you float on your back?" Bugs asked.

Steve managed a nod, then slowly complied.

With Steve's leg now just below the surface, the doctor could examine it. And what he saw was not good. The leg had swollen even more and was now straining against the helmet straps and shoelaces that held the makeshift rifle splint in place. He couldn't see the skin but if he could, he was sure it would be discolored with vivid bruising. He reached out to his ankle to check its pulse, noticing his friend jerked involuntarily to his touch. "Sorry, McGarrett. But I've got to check."

Steve swallowed and barely nodded, acknowledging his understanding.

Bugs took the pulse as gently as he could, but even so, Steve's face was colorless when it was over.

Bugs sighed. Steve's tibial pulse was slower than last time, an indication that blood flow was becoming restricted to his leg and foot. The SEAL wouldn't be swimming any more tonight.

Bugs looked at the beach one more time, solidifying his plan. He waited for a wave to pass, then reached around his waist and released the clasp for his flotation device. He pulled it up and over his head, then slipped the neck hole gently over McGarrett's right foot.

Steve felt the motion and opened his eyes, looking down the length of his body to the doctor. "Hey!" he protested, his voice sounding increasingly weak. "What are you doing?"

"Elevating your leg," Bugs replied simply.

"But you need that," Steve argued, his face scrunched up in concern. "And I can't swim very well with it on."

"I'll be fine. And you're not going to be swimming," the doctor explained as he secured the floatation device around Steve's splinted calf as gently as possible. "You and your leg are going downhill too quickly for me to let you continue."

"But we need to get out of the ocean."

"And we will. Just not with you doing any of the work." Bugs examined his handiwork, then let go and began treading water, satisfied.

Lightning flashed through the sky again, the thunder almost instantaneous. It would start raining soon.

Steve looked up at the sky, then back at his friend. "So, what? We stay here and wait for rescue?"

Bugs shook his head. "No."

"Then what are we going to do?" Steve asked, confused.

Bugs snaked his arm under Steve's armpit and wrapped it firmly across the chest. Then he smiled. "Welcome to Bugs' Hawaiian Ferry Service."

Then he turned toward shore and began swimming, towing a surprised McGarrett with him.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

A/N #1: This chapter is a little shorter than the others, guys. Sorry about that- it's just the way the chapters broke. The good news is the next chapter is extra-long so it all averages out in the end.

A/N #2: Some of you have been asking about Danny. Have no fear, he is in the story, just not yet. But when he does appear, he will get plenty of screen time so no worries there. :)

A/N #3: I've decided to take next week off from posting in order to enjoy the July 4th holiday with my family. I hope you all have a wonderful week and I'll see you back on July 10th.

* * *

Chapter 5

Bugs was sweating profusely.

Or at least he thought he was. It was hard to really tell in the ocean, where he was regularly doused with saltwater by the increasingly choppy waves. But every once in a while, a rivulet of sweat made its way down his face and he caught it greedily with his tongue, longing to taste anything less salty than the sea.

His shoulders, arms, and legs were already quivering from exertion. Rescue swimming was never easy and that was before factoring in the winds, waves, and the extra weight from not only the waterlogged clothes but also the rifle and helmet that comprised the makeshift splint.

Bugs wasn't in bad shape, but he was guilty of occasionally hitting the snooze button and sleeping in instead of working out. Normally, that wasn't a problem. The main stamina required by his job was standing for hours on end and he could do that in his sleep. (And as a resident years ago, he had). But now, swimming in the middle of a stormy ocean _and_ pulling along an injured man… well, Bugs knew he wouldn't be able to last forever. But he was determined to last as long as he could, and then some.

He hadn't stopped to check his watch, but he guessed he had been towing McGarrett for almost fifteen minutes. The SEAL had protested violently at first, saying he was more than capable of swimming by himself even as Bugs slowly dragged him along through the water. But Bugs held firm in his decision and less than a minute later, McGarrett backed down. He had remained silent and compliant since then, which made Bugs worry even more. So much so that he glanced back at his friend regularly to make sure he hadn't passed out. But so far, the man was holding on, eyes closed as he raggedly breathed in and out, and Bugs chose to focus on that small victory over the gruesomeness of McGarrett's broken leg.

Because his leg _was_ gruesome. Gruesome and horrific and downright nauseating to look at, of that he was certain. He hadn't been kidding earlier; he didn't need eyes to see because his hands and years of experience told him all he needed to know. McGarrett's right leg was a mess; his left knee was only slightly better. The road to recovery would be long and painful.

And although the doctor knew all of this, he also knew Steve wasn't a quitter. None of the SEALs were. If anyone could get through a devastating injury and emerge on the other side at a hundred percent joking like nothing had ever happened and ready to get back to the action, it would be a SEAL. Each and every one of them was simply an unstoppable force of nature.

Lightning lit up the sky once again, the thunder not a second behind, and Bugs could see he was ever so slowly getting closer to the shore. Soon, his job would become harder as the tumultuous breaking waves would make swimming more difficult. Not to mention, if a wave broke on him just right, he could lose hold of his cargo and Steve would slip out of his hands like a surfboard on a rough day at the North Shore. No matter what, he could not let that happen.

He readjusted his grip and pressed on.

The storm continued to gain on them, the lightning so frequent now that it reminded Bugs of a strobe light at a dance club that his wife used to drag him to when they were younger. Every pulse of light used to catch her in a different position as she danced the night away and he basically stood there, grateful that the intermittent lighting hid the fact that he had no rhythm. But tonight the same effect was depressing. Because with every flash of lightning, it seemed like nothing had changed; they were still in the ocean and progress was negligible between the pulses of light. And he began to wonder if maybe his mind was tricking him into thinking he was getting closer to shore when really, he wasn't moving any more than he had been on the dance floor.

Then, it began to rain.

At first, the drops were heavy but sparse. But the rain picked up speed quickly, like any island storm, and within a minute they were being pelted in earnest.

Steve mumbled something but Bugs couldn't catch it over the noise of the storm. He switched to treading water in order to pull McGarrett closer. "What was that?" he asked between pants of breath, glad for a chance to rest for a moment but also hoping the SEAL's condition had not deteriorated.

Steve's eyes were closed, his face strained, and in the brief illumination of the lightning, he looked pale. Still, he licked his lips and tried again. "Should've brought an umbrella."

Bugs chuffed as he continued to breathe heavily. "Your leg's broken and you're stranded in the middle of the ocean. And you wish you'd brought an umbrella?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Steve's lips. "Would've kept the rain off my face. And I could've ridden it down like Mary Poppins."

"Well, that certainly would have saved us both a lot of trouble, wouldn't it?" Bugs agreed, then ducked his head under a swell before reemerging and taking a few more deep breaths. "I'm sold. Next time, bring it with you."

"Will do," Steve replied, then grimaced as a hard wave buffeted against him, jostling his leg and filling his mouth with saltwater.

Bugs' smile disappeared as he winced in sympathy. He knew that had to have hurt, but McGarrett said nothing and instead, just spit the water out. Stoic patients had always been his favorite type; it was one of the reasons he had stayed with the military long after his commitment ended. But what McGarrett was enduring was beyond stoic, it was downright saintly. Which only made Bugs more determined to get him out of the ocean as quickly as possible.

He scanned the sky, wondering why there weren't any helicopters looking for them yet. It had been well over an hour; he thought surely help would have arrived by now. But as he watched as the lightning lit up the sky, there was nothing in the air. He looked toward the beach, but could not see anyone there, either. The others must have taken refuge from the rain in the palms lining the beach, their forms too small and far away to make out between the heavy sheets of rain and the foliage's dark shadows. And a rescue by sea was out of the question. There were no ships in the area and the closest Navy vessels were docked at Pearl, almost 150 miles away. A helicopter would be able to get to them far faster than a boat ever would.

All of this only confirmed what he already knew.

They were still alone.

Bugs took in one slow, deep breath, then another.

Then he wrapped his arm tightly around Steve's chest, turned toward shore, and swam on.

*H50*

Five minutes later, Bugs was convinced he couldn't keep going.

At least not without resting first.

He began treading water and positioned himself by Steve's leg, hoping the distance would give him a moment to catch his breath before the SEAL noticed Bugs was panting, his lungs on fire and muscles quivering, pushed far past their breaking point. And if he was already down there, he might as well make himself useful. He took a look at Steve's leg, noticing the splint still seemed to be holding. The flotation device was still doing its job, keeping his leg elevated. And while the swelling in his leg had not decreased, at least it was progressing at a slower rate. Bugs went to take Steve's tibial pulse only to find his ankle was now swollen to the point where he would have to loosen Steve's boot even more to relieve the pressure.

McGarrett hissed in pain as Bugs gingerly tugged on his boot laces. "Easy," was all Bugs could get out, his own breath still labored and hands trembling from the exertion. He went to take Steve's pulse but then realized he couldn't tread water and take a pulse at the same time, at least not the usual way. He floated on his back for a few seconds and quickly removed the watch from his left wrist and put it on his right. Then he began treading water again with his left hand and reached out to both take Steve's pulse with his right hand, keeping a close eye on the watch as he counted.

When it was over, his sighed. The circulation to Steve's foot was becoming diminished as the fluid building in his leg pressed against the arteries, restricting blood flow. He needed to get McGarrett out of the ocean.

Now.

He closed his eyes for a moment and tread water. The pouring rain pounded his body like a sadistic massage as he tried to catch his breath and mentally gear up for the next round of swimming.

"That good, huh?"

Bugs was startled, lifting his head and opening his eyes to see the SEAL looking back at him with as much intensity as he could muster. Which wasn't that much, really.

But even through the exhaustion and deep pain Bugs could read in McGarrett's eyes, he could also see something else: that he knew the truth. Bugs could try to hide it but Steve wasn't fooled. Things were getting worse and if they didn't get him out soon, it might be too late- too late for his leg, maybe even too late for him altogether. And the SEAL also knew Bugs was completely out of steam and running on pure adrenaline and determination alone.

"You should let me swim," Steve said, his voice barely audible over the driving sheets of rain.

Bugs frowned and shook his head, waiting for a loud rumble of thunder to subside before responding. "No."

"It wasn't a suggestion," Steve replied, his face strained as he rode down the trough of a wave, the ocean dancing all around him as the raindrops made contact with the surface. "At this point, I have to get out of the water." He nodded towards Bugs. "And you do, too."

"I'm fine."

"You're exhausted," Steve commented, then spat out water, some from the rain, some from the choppy ocean.

Bugs couldn't deny that; he _was_ exhausted. Hell, he had been exhausted two minutes into hauling McGarrett. Exhausted was a station he had passed long ago on his way to bone-aching tiredness and muscles that quivered like Jell-O even when he was just floating.

But still, he was responsible for McGarrett's condition, and his life, and it was hard for him to acknowledge that maybe the SEAL did know best this time. Bugs had tried pulling the injured man to shore and although they were closer, they still weren't close enough.

If Steve swam, his leg could swell even more, eventually cutting off circulation to his foot and damaging it irreparably. But then again, his leg was also getting closer and closer to a life-ending infection the longer it went untreated. And while compromising a foot or even a leg was never a good option, it was still better than death.

Bugs rode a swell up, then down, as the thunder rumbled around them before finally sighing heavily and nodding. "Just stay ahead of me so I can see you," he commanded over the storm.

Steve nodded, acknowledging his understanding.

Then he turned and slowly began making his way toward shore once again.

*H50*

It was harder this time, but Steve expected that.

Not only had it been about 90 minutes since he hit the water, but the waves had picked up considerably with the storm, providing additional resistance, as if swimming the ocean with a broken leg and a bum knee wasn't challenging enough already. The rain pounded them mercilessly in heavy sheets blown at diagonals by the wind.

Still, he pressed on, stealing periodic looks behind him to check on Bugs and make sure he was still there. And every time, he was.

Until one time, he wasn't.

Steve stopped swimming, turning his body to face behind him, where he had last seen Bugs. He called his friend's name, listening for a reply. He fought down panic and remained calm for the moment, riding the rising swells up and then back down, as he scanned for the doctor.

It was hard to see far; the waves were more numerous and building larger as the storm continued to roll in and they neared land. It was entirely possible Bugs was just a few yards away, riding in the trough of a wave that Steve could not see, his voice lost in the howling storm.

Steve called his name again, as loudly as he could, then started to look for the yellow of his friend's flotation device.

That's when it hit him.

Bugs had taken off his flotation device and secured it to Steve's right leg to keep it elevated and buoyant. Steve glanced down and sure enough, it was still there. He had totally forgotten about giving it back when he began swimming again.

Steve began frantically rotating his body looking everywhere for his friend as he continued yelling his name.

But Bugs was nowhere to be found.

He was just… _gone_.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for coming back after the break, guys. I promise, I did not intend to leave you with a cliffie for two weeks. That's just the way it worked out. But I am glad to see so many of you care about Bugs. I just hope I didn't kill him... ;)

* * *

Chapter 6

Steve wanted to curse loudly, to yell obscenities to the sky, the storm, and the relentless rain. He wanted to raise his fists and hammer them into the sea and have a full-fledged temper tantrum like a child. He wanted to do a lot of things.

But he didn't do any of them.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, seething. He wasn't angry at the doctor; he was angry at himself. Angry for letting Bugs swim behind him, angry for forgetting about the flotation device, angry about making the call to go ahead with the jump in the first place. The safety of his men was always paramount and he had failed.

Failed his men, failed his friend, failed himself.

But as soon as he had the thought, he shook his head, trying to clear it. He might have failed his men and himself, but he wasn't about to fail Bugs.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Steve took a deep, calming breath and focused. Then he began calling his friend's name. He alternated between "Bugs", "Commander", and "Carter", which was Bugs' last name, trying to find an inflection that would carry over the sound of the storm. But he came up empty.

He quickly reviewed the physics of waves in his mind: they were getting closer to shore and the waves were taller and harder to see over as they prepared to break. So, one option was that Bugs was nearby and Steve simply couldn't see him due to the height of the swells. But if that was the case, why didn't he respond when Steve called his name? If Bugs was only a few feet away, he still should have been able to hear Steve yelling between rumbles of thunder. So that scenario, while possible, was unlikely.

Which left a second, less comforting option. The transition to shallow water also meant the span of ocean they were in right now was ripe for undertows and rip currents. Either one could pull his friend out to sea, farther from the shore. They were often deadly because swimmers panicked and fought against the strong currents until they became so exhausted they couldn't stay afloat any longer and drowned.

And Bugs was already exhausted to begin with.

The third option was so horrible that Steve even refused to consider it. Bugs simply could not be dead.

Steve mentally cursed, then decided to go with option two and began looking for potential rip currents. It was hard to see far due to the swells and pelting rain hindering his visibility but after a minute, he saw it about 15 feet behind him to his right; a section of water pulling away from shore. He couldn't see how far out it went, or even if Bugs was in it, but Steve had no doubt that was where he would find the Navy commander.

Steve glanced at the beach one last time, barely visible through the sheets of rain. The rest of his men were there somewhere and he felt a responsibility to get to them as quickly as possible. Not to mention, reaching the shore would also provide the safety he had been seeking since his parachute malfunctioned. He was so close it was almost cruel to have to turn back now.

But there was no choice in the matter; he didn't even take a moment to mull it over. He would do what he had to do. It was what Bugs deserved.

But also, it was who Steve was. Protectiveness and selflessness had been programmed into his DNA before birth and reinforced by decades of training in the Navy. And the truth of the matter was he would never be able to live with himself if he did anything else.

So Steve turned his back to the shore and began swimming back out toward the open sea.

*H50*

Bugs didn't scare easily.

He never backed down from a dare as a kid, enjoyed jumping out of airplanes whenever he could, and had no problem getting elbow deep in someone's chest cavity during surgery, an experience that often left even battle-hardened soldiers throwing up in the corner. But now, suddenly caught in a vicious rip current and struggling for breath, he was a little scared.

Ok, maybe more than a little.

He tried to keep his head above water but the fierce current limited his mobility and the stormy waves kept crashing over his head. He went under, repeatedly, involuntarily gulping in saltwater before he could close his mouth.

He felt certain he would drown more than once; but each time, he resurfaced, coughing up what felt like a bathtub full of water. He gasped air in heaving breaths, trying to replenish the oxygen conspicuously missing from his lungs before the whole process started over again.

He felt exactly like a sock churning in a washing machine.

The problem wasn't that Bugs didn't know what to do; he did. He needed to ride the swift current until it dissipated and dumped him out in the middle of the ocean, then swim diagonally back to shore. But it was hard to respond logically, to _not_ fight the rip current as it dragged him out to sea, especially when he kept going under.

A few times when he surfaced, Bugs caught a brief glimpse of McGarrett's back, slipping farther and farther away. But he never had enough time to call out his name before being pulled under again.

The current kept rushing him out toward the open water until finally, the rain was too heavy and the distance too far.

And he couldn't see the injured SEAL anymore.

*H50*

Eventually, the current began to moderate and Bugs was able to keep us his head above water.

It took extra effort, considering he had given away his flotation device. But it wasn't a decision he regretted; not by a long shot. McGarrett needed it more than he did. A compound fracture in the ocean trumped a rip current in the danger department every time. Today was no exception.

Especially if a shark ran across the trail of blood seeping out of McGarrett's leg. But Bugs tried not to dwell on that. After all, his only real means of defense was securely fastened to his friend's leg with a pair of shoelaces. MacGyver of the medical profession, indeed. At least MacGyver had been smart enough to use things like twine and bubble gum for his improvisations instead of potentially useful weapons.

But it was too late to do anything about it. So Bugs tried to think of something else besides sharks and his wife's inevitable "I told you so" as he let the current carry him along, saving his strength for swimming. His aching muscles and burning lungs silently thanked him for the break and used the time to recover. After what seemed like an eternity, the rip current's force faded, dumping him out well over 50 yards from where he started. It was far, but not too far, and hoped he could make it back before Steve realized he was missing.

Because even though Bugs had been afraid for himself, he was even more afraid for McGarrett. He knew Steve would come looking for him if he disappeared, with or without the SEALs "leave no man behind" motto. It was simply who the man was. And in Steve's condition, any more strain on his leg could have severe, if not deadly, consequences. McGarrett needed to stay put, no matter what. But the doctor knew his friend well enough to know that would never happen.

Bugs slipped out of the stream and began heading back, charting a course close to the rip current, hoping to intercept McGarrett on the way back. The last thing the injured man needed was to play another round of find the needle in the haystack with the rain limiting his visibility. Time was getting too short to waste that way.

Time was getting too short, period.

*H50*

Steve swam close to the rip current, keeping enough distance that he wasn't caught up in its force. Still, he was fighting against the tide and the incoming waves, using only his arms to propel him forward as his legs trailed behind him on the surface. His body screamed in protest; his arms rubbery, his lungs burning, his leg in agony.

But he kept going anyway.

At times, it felt like he was getting nowhere, as if he was swimming in place in a large current pool. At other times, he could note progress, however small. He was tempted to look at the beach as a reference point to gauge how far he had come but doing so would take his eyes away from where they needed to be- looking for his missing friend.

Minutes later, the water in the rip current began to erode. He was nearing the end of it now; still looking, and still coming up empty. He pressed on, his head above water as he looked and listened for something, anything that would alert his to Bugs' location.

Then he heard it- his name.

Well, actually, he heard what sounded like someone yelling, "Dog," but that was close enough. Steve turned his head toward the direction of the voice. And then he saw Bugs, his dark face hard to distinguish in the night, but then a flash of lightning streaked through the sky and the doctor's smiling white teeth were unmistakable even through the pelting rain.

And Steve couldn't help but smile back.

*H50*

Bugs kept watch as he swam, scanning for any sight of the SEAL or his flotation devices, when he saw it; a small glimpse of yellow. He began yelling again, alternating between "McGarrett" and "Dog", waving one arm frantically as he tread water with the other. And then, Steve stopped, his head cocked to the side, like he heard something. Bugs yelled louder then, going with "Dog!" simply because it was shorter and he could yell it more times in a single breath. He silently prayed McGarrett would hear him and then, Steve turned his head Bugs' way.

Even at a distance, Bugs could see Steve was getting worse. In a word, he looked shaky, as if he was standing on his last leg; or in this case, swimming on his last arm. But then Steve's eyes locked on Bugs' and he smiled, looking relieved and exhausted and so darn happy it almost broke Bugs' heart.

But enough things had been broken today.

And as Bugs began swimming toward his friend, he resolved he would fix everything or die trying.

He just prayed fate wouldn't force him to choose the latter.

*H50*

McGarrett looked even worse up close.

His face was drawn, his eyes laden with pain, and Bugs knew the only thing keeping the man conscious was stubbornness and determination. Still, he smiled as Bugs reached him.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Steve quipped, his breath coming out in strained pants.

Bugs grinned as he tread water, his chest heaving. "I vote next time… we meet on the first hole of the Navy Marine," he replied, referring to the Navy Marine Golf Course, his favorite place to play and one of the top 10 military golf courses in the world.

"Or maybe the nineteenth hole," Steve joked back, then spat out some saltwater. The he started to remove the flotation device from around his neck.

"Whoa! What are you doing, man?"

"Giving one of these back to you."

Bugs shook his head and pushed the device back in place. "No way."

"You could have drowned," Steve protested, still breathing heavily.

"But I didn't."

"And what about next time?" Steve countered.

"There's not going to be a next time," another voice yelled.

The two men whipped their heads around, stunned.

And there, cresting a wave and swimming up not five feet from them, was Petty Officer Joshua Wilson, the Midwestern farm boy look-alike who was nervous about jumping. Apparently, he wasn't nervous about swimming. And following in his wake was another man from the jump team, Jennings, if Bugs remembered correctly.

Bugs and Steve were speechless as Wilson and Jennings reached them and then began treading water. Wilson took off his floatation device, offering it to Bugs, who protested.

"Just take it," Wilson encouraged, yelling over the storm as he rode up a swell, then down. "You've been out here for hours; I've been out here for fifteen minutes. Trust me, I'm fine."

Bugs took the device and slipped it over his head gratefully. "Thanks." He had been willing to swim as long as needed, hauling McGarrett with him until they reached the shore, but now that assistance was being offered, he wasn't arrogant or stupid enough to turn it down. Especially when it felt like his muscles might give out at any moment.

"No worries," Wilson replied as he looked back and forth between the two men. "No offense," he said, spitting out some water, "but you guys look like crap."

Bugs laughed and Steve grinned. "Well, you look beautiful," the SEAL replied.

Wilson grinned back, his freckles almost forming a line right below where sunglasses would go as his face crinkled. "I get that a lot."

"Report, please," Steve asked, all business now that help was at hand.

Wilson came to attention, or to as much attention as he could while swimming. "The rest of us hit the beach as planned, Sir. All accounted for, no injuries. We're all fine," he replied as Jennings pulled a glow stick out of his chest pocket and cracked it. "We were just worried about you two."

"How did you find us?" Steve asked as Jennings turned his body toward the shoreline and began waving his glow stick in the air.

"We've been looking for both of you since we landed," Wilson replied, his voice loud enough to carry over the rain and thunder. "Simpson radioed it in, then we broke up in groups of two, each group taking a specific grid of the ocean. We couldn't just swim out indiscriminately in the storm, so we kept watch with our night vision goggles. Finally, I saw you, sir," Wilson said, nodding toward Steve, "or more accurately, I saw youre flotation device. Jennings and I called it out, then started sprinting into the water to assist. But when we got to your location, you were gone. Then we found the rip current and followed a hunch. It worked out and here we are."

"Well, I'm glad you came looking for us," Bugs said, speaking for both of them, as Steve had relaxed and closed his eyes, all but melting into the ocean after hearing the story and finding out all the sailors were safe.

"We are, too," Jennings replied as he continued to wave his stick in the air. As they crested on a swell, another glow stick began to burn in response on the beach, underneath the palms. "That should do it," he replied, turning back to face them. "We'll have you out of here in no time."

"Define 'no time'," the doctor asked, eying Steve's leg. He wanted to examine it but was fairly certain at this point McGarrett would pass out if he even touched it. Instead, he settled for a quick look, then began taking his patient's pulse.

"No more than five," Jennings replied.

At that, Steve's eyes popped back open and he straightened, messing up Bugs' counting. "Five?"

Wilson nodded. "A Black Hawk's on its way; they'll find us by the glow stick."

"Mind if I ask why it took so long?" Bugs asked, noticing that now Steve had his answer, he relaxed back into the water, letting the flotation device do all the work.

"The storm," Jennings replied and shook his head, practically shouting to be heard over the wind and driving rain. "Came in a lot faster than anticipated. Not only caught us by surprise, but also a lot of boaters farther east, where the storm was coming from. All available chopper units were dispatched to help the Coast Guard rescue tourists and locals who got stranded on boats. Our call came in a few minutes too late; they were already gone. They dropped the civilians off maybe twenty minutes ago, then headed our way."

*H50*

Steve tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but he was simply too exhausted to pay attention. So he closed his eyes and floated as the others made small talk. After all, he already knew the salient points; the rest of the men were safe and help was coming, and coming soon. Which was good news.

No, make that great news. Because he simply wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on. The pain radiating from his leg and even his knee seemed to consume his entire body. And after almost an hour and a half in the ocean, trying to keep both himself and Bugs alive and going, he was totally and completely spent. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. He was just done.

Well, almost done.

He just had one last thing to do.

His mind continued to drift until he heard something, first at a distance, then coming closer. He knew that sound. It was one he had waited for and longed to hear on more than one mission- the whap-whap-whap of helicopter blades.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the Black Hawk pull into view. It hovered directly on top of them, then the side door opened and a basket was lowered. It swung in the stormy night sky, buffeted by the wind as it made its way down.

Jennings reached up and grabbed it a few feet above the water, then guided it right beside Steve. The SEAL shook his head. "Take Bugs up first," he commanded.

Bugs shook his head right back. "Not a chance," he shouted over a clap of thunder and deafening whap of helicopter blades. "You're going first, McGarrett."

Steve scowled, preferring to be the last man out, but even he knew that was impractical. Still, it had been worth a shot. He kept his mouth shut and tried his best not to cry out in pain as Bugs and Wilson maneuvered him inside while Jennings kept the basket in place. Once the straps were fastened securely around him, Bugs squeezed him once on the shoulder.

"See you up there," the doctor said with a tired, but triumphant, smile.

Steve nodded his thanks to Bugs and the other two men as the basket began its climb into the air, swinging violently in the strong wind.

The next thing he knew, the basket was being pulled into the helicopter. He blinked and he was lying on the floor of the helo, his upper body wrapped in a blanket, not remembering how it got there. He realized he must be drifting in and out, missing chunks of time, and resolved to stay awake. Even so, he blinked again and Bugs was right there beside him, dripping wet and fussing over his leg.

"The others?" Steve asked, stunned at how small and weak his voice sounded.

Bugs looked up, surprised to see his patient awake. "We're getting them now," he reassured, placing a hand on Steve's chest.

Steve looked over at the open helicopter door, and sure enough, there was an ensign there hauling in a rope. He must have been the same man who tucked the blanket around him.

He blinked again and opened his eyes to see Wilson and Jennings sitting behind Bugs, their water-soaked clothes clinging to their bodies and creating large puddles on the floor. He caught Wilson's eye, who gave him a bright smile and a thumbs up.

Steve returned his grin, then reached out and grabbed Bugs' arm, his expression now serious. "The others?"

"We have another Black Hawk coming for them," Bugs explained. "We need to get you to Tripler ASAP."

Steve shook his head, mustering up all the strength he could. "No. Now."

Wilson leaned forward. "The helo's ETA is five minutes, Commander," he told Steve. "The men on the beach are fine."

Steve shook his head again. "Now. That's an order."

Wilson looked at Bugs, who pressed his lips together tightly. Steve could see the gears turning in his mind as the good doctor tried to decide whether or not to point out that Steve wasn't the ranking officer. Then Bugs sighed and grabbed the pilot's attention. "Head to the beach. We need to get the others."

Steve blinked one last time, and the rest of his team was on board, crammed into the Black Hawk like sardines but smiling nonetheless. He did a quick visual count, then exhaled a breath of relief.

Everyone was there, safe.

It was over.

Steve was officially done.

He could stand down now.

So he closed his eyes and let go.

_To be continued…._

* * *

A/N: There you go, guys. I hope it was worth the wait. :)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ok, a few people have expressed concern that this is almost over now that Steve is out of the water. Have no fear; the story is 14 chapters long so there is still plenty more to come. :)

* * *

Chapter 7

Bugs was actually relieved when Steve passed out. Not only would it give the injured man the rest he desperately needed, but it would keep him out of pain, if only for a few minutes. It would also prevent him from trying to brush off medical attention and save him from the embarrassment of being injured in the first place. Not that any of this had been McGarrett's fault, but still, Bugs knew it would bother him.

The Black Hawk was not equipped for emergency medicine but at least someone had the forethought to throw a more comprehensive medical kit on board. He rummaged around in it, pulling out items he could use: a stethoscope; blood pressure cuff; morphine; and perhaps most importantly, vial of penicillin.

He quickly checked McGarrett's blood pressure, pulse, and respiration. After finding them in the safe range for administering drugs, he quickly injected him with the both the morphine and a healthy dose of penicillin. He wanted to clean the wound where the SEAL's tibia previously stuck out of his leg, but it was too swollen to do much of anything and he didn't want to risk further injury to the leg my moving it. So he settled on removing the salty and soiled bandage and poured a bottle of water over the area, hoping to flush out what he could. He carefully rewrapped the wound with clean, dry gauze from the helicopter's kit and bound it with medical tape. The rest would have to wait until they reached a proper trauma center.

Having done what he could, Bugs elevated both of Steve's legs and retucked the blanket tightly around his body, trying to ward off both hypothermia and shock. Then he sat back on his haunches and let out a large breath. He felt a tap on his shoulder, then looked around to see Wilson right behind him.

"Sir," Wilson said, holding out his hand, "we thought you could use these."

Bugs looked down to see Wilson was offering him a sweaty pair of socks. _Why on earth would he want those? _ That's when he realized the socks he was wearing were soaking wet and now that he thought about it, his feet were freezing. He had forgotten he'd let his boots sink to the bottom of the ocean over an hour ago.

"Thanks," Bugs said, taking the socks and nodding gratefully as he removed his wet pair and pulled the dry ones on.

"Don't thank me," Wilson said as he handed the doctor a pair of boots. "Thank Cox over there." He pointed to a young red-headed sailor in the back who was now barefoot. The man grinned and wiggled his bare toes.

"Thanks," Bugs called to Cox as he slipped the boots on as well. They were a little too small and somewhat ripe but otherwise, they were warm and heavenly.

Cox grinned. "My pleasure, Commander."

"How long until we land?" Bugs asked.

"Latest ETA I heard was ten," Wilson replied. "But I can check with the pilot again."

Bugs nodded. "Please do." Then he turned his attention back to McGarrett. The man was starting to move a bit, hinting that his period of unconsciousness was about to end. The morphine must have started working; otherwise, the pain alone would have kept him out for the entire flight. Bugs put a grounding hand on his shoulder, hoping the security provided by his touch would lull the injured SEAL back under.

No such luck.

Of course, luck really hadn't been on their side that night. He didn't know why he should expect that to change now.

McGarrett shifted his body restlessly, then suddenly came to, his face scrunched up in a grimace.

_Crap, must have jostled his leg,_ Bugs thought. The makeshift splint was doing its job the best it could, but in the end it was still just a rifle, a helmet, and a pair of shoelaces. The only way the leg would remain completely immobile was if McGarrett kept his body perfectly still.

"Easy," Bugs coached in his most comforting voice. "Try not to move."

Steve tried to nod but the effort was wasted and he just grimaced more.

Bugs clasped a hand on his patient's shoulder. "Just stay still. It'll hurt less."

McGarrett stilled, apparently obeying. Bugs actually thought the SEAL might have been drifting back under again when he opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light of the helicopter. He looked up at the ceiling of the fuselage, then his eyes slowly tracked over to Bugs. "Everyone… ok?" he asked with obvious effort.

Bugs knew he shouldn't be surprised that McGarrett didn't remember. But still, it was disheartening. He nodded, trying his best to keep the disappointment out of his eyes. "Everyone's fine. You just need to worry about yourself."

Steve gave Bugs a look that the doctor loosely interpreted as_ yeah, right,_ but the effort seemed to exhaust him. He began sweating, the sheen making his already pale face look almost deathly, and his eyes began drifting closed.

"Is there anyone you want me to call?" Bugs asked, trying to capitalize on what might be Steve's only waking moments for the next few hours, if not days. "Maybe your partner? What was his name again?"

Steve's eyes opened up again and he looked over at Bugs weakly. He blinked a few times before replying. "Danny."

"Do you have a contact number for him?" Bugs asked, quickly turning around to look for something to write with. The men patted down their pockets and the young ensign who had manned the rescue basket was the winner, the first to find and hand over a ball point pen. Bugs turned back around, ready to write the number on his hand, only to notice Steve's eyes were closed. "McGarrett?" he asked.

But Steve didn't move.

Bugs dropped the pen, pulled the stethoscope from around his neck, and hastily leaned over his friend. He was relieved to hear the reassuring heartbeat; a bit faster than the last time he checked, but considering the circumstances, it could have been much worse. He had just passed out again. Nothing more.

Bugs leaned back and sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

*H50*

"ETA one minute, Sir."

Bugs nodded his understanding and shrugged out of the blanket Wilson had given him once Steve was out for good. He checked on his patient one more time, noting he was holding steady, before turning to face the petty officer. "When you get back to Pearl, I need you to gather my personal affects, as well as McGarrett's, and bring them to me. Can you do that?"

Wilson nodded. "Not a problem, Sir."

"Good."

The Black Hawk made its descent and the next thing he knew, they were landing. The staff at Tripler Army Medical Center had been alerted in advance and were waiting for them on the helicopter pad. Before the chopper blades even died down, they rushed forward, heads low, with a gurney in tow.

Within seconds, McGarrett was loaded onto it and they rushed off, Bugs jogging beside them. They were inside before the Black Hawk took off again to deliver the remaining men back to the Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam.

As they rode the elevator down, the nurses began checking McGarrett's ABCs (airway, breathing, circulation) and Bugs got his first look at his friend under the glaring fluorescent light. And he simply looked awful. His face was pale, making the dried blood on his neck from the chinstrap's cut look particularly gruesome. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and his hair was soaking wet from not only the ocean but a cold sweat. His mouth was slack, his lips lifeless and grey, making him look almost dead.

Bugs reached out and checked Steve's pulse, just to make sure, and felt the reassuring thump-thump-thump of his heart. He was relieved; but he was also exceedingly glad when the elevator door opened and they rushed down the short hall to the ER.

"What can you tell me?" Dr. Coburn, an Army Lieutenant Colonel and second in command of the ER, asked Bugs as Steve was pushed into a curtained room where the doctor had been preparing for their arrival. He didn't seem fazed at all by the makeshift splint or Bugs' dripping clothes and haggard appearance. Nor were any introductions necessary; Tripler was Bugs' workplace as well. He and Dr. Coburn consulted regularly on cases that required surgery. Granted, Coburn was normally the first physician to treat the patient and Bugs was called in later, but there was a first time for everything, as Bugs had already learned several times that night.

"Compound fracture of the right leg, tibia penetrated the skin below the knee," Bugs rattled off. "I set it the best I could, but he's going to need surgery. Left knee is swollen, possible torn tendons, maybe his ACL. He's starting to show signs of shock but there are no indications of internal damage or bleeding. Assorted cuts and bruises, but nothing that stands out. He was lucid and conscious for almost two hours, most of which was spent in the ocean. I administered four Tylenols and two cipros over an hour ago, then ten milligrams of morphine and twelve hundred units of penicillin into his left thigh while en route."

Dr. Coburn nodded as the nurses finished cutting off McGarrett's wet clothes and covered him with a gown. Then he bent over and began thoroughly examining Steve, starting with his vitals, then moving to his head and working his way down. The nurses busied themselves around him, placing an oxygen mask on his face, hooking up a central line with a warm saline IV, and attaching a heart rate monitor to his chest and a pulse-ox on his finger.

Bugs stepped out of their way, allowing them to do their jobs, but kept a close eye on the monitors. Steve's blood pressure was still elevated, which might or might not be a good thing. On the positive side, it could mean he hadn't lost too much blood, something Bugs was incapable of measuring accurately while they were in the ocean. On the negative side, it could mean McGarrett was going into shock. His heart rate was also a bit high, especially since he was unconscious, further leading Bugs to worry that shock might be setting in. But then again, it could have just been a reaction to severe pain.

Steve's oxygen saturation was good but his temperature was on the low side. Normally, that would be a negative; contrary to popular belief, people can get hypothermic even in warm water. Bodies lose heat anytime the surrounding environment is colder, whether that environment is 30 degrees or 80. All it takes is time. So even though McGarrett's lowered temperature meant he was mildly hypothermic, it also meant the inevitable infection hadn't gained enough traction to cause a fever yet. It was a positive at the moment, but also something that could reverse itself in a matter of minutes. They would need to warm him up now, then keep a close eye on his temperature. He approvingly noted when a nurse brought in a warming blanket, ready to cover Steve the moment the doctor finished his examination.

After a few minutes, Dr. Coburn placed his stethoscope back around his neck and looked up at his team. "Find out his blood type, give him a tetanus shot, and push another twelve of penicillin, five of morphine. I need an x-ray of his right leg and an MRI on his left knee. I want an x-ray of his pelvis, abdominal cavity, and a chest, too, just to be safe. Janice," he said, looking at the head nurse, "call down and clear the OR. And page Dr. Soon." He turned back to Bugs. "I assume you're going to scrub in?"

"Yes," Bugs replied. "But just to watch." He would have preferred to do the surgery himself, but he knew he was in no condition to do so. Between the exhaustion from swimming and the intermittent trembling in his hands from what was either fading adrenaline or the beginning of hypothermia, he knew he would have to sit this one out. But he was still going to be in there, no matter what. He hadn't gotten McGarrett this far to bail on him now.

"Alright," Coburn nodded. "It'll be at least hour before he's prepped and ready. In the meantime, I want you to get checked out."

Bugs shook his head. "I'm fine." And he was, really. Well, for the most part. Nothing a hot cup of coffee or two wouldn't cure.

Dr. Coburn arched his grey eyebrows and didn't look even remotely convinced. "From what I understand, you were in the water with him the whole time, correct?" he asked, glancing at Bugs' still damp clothes.

Bugs sighed heavily and tried not to shiver in the cold air conditioning, giving the doctor all the answer he needed.

"Ok, then. You need to get checked out, too," Coburn practically ordered. It was a fine line to walk; both doctors held equivalent military ranks but surgeons outranked ER doctors in the pecking order of medicine. But still, it was his ER and he knew what he was talking about.

Bugs gave him a look and the ER doctor sighed, then lowered his voice as his tone softened. "Look, I know you don't like it. Hell, I wouldn't either," he said earnestly. "But if you want to be in there for your patient, we need to make sure you're not going to keel over half-way through surgery. It's already been a long night and it's not even over yet. Don't make it any longer."

Bugs sighed again. He knew Coburn was right but that didn't make it any easier. There was a reason that doctors were always the worst patients.

Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But I want to be called the second you get McGarrett's x-rays back."

*H50*

Forty-five minutes, a couple of blankets, a warm saline IV, and a stale sandwich from a vending machine later, Bugs was deemed fit for duty, provided his duty didn't involve surgery. He went to his office and quickly changed into a dry set of scrubs and an extra pair of tennis shoes he kept in his closet.

"How's he doing?" Bugs asked when he met back up with Dr. Coburn in the radiology room. He didn't like being left out of the loop, even while receiving treatment himself.

"Stable for now," Coburn replied as he clipped the x-rays up on the panel. "And thankfully, still out of it."

The ER doctor flipped a switch and the light flickered a few times before catching on and illuminating the film. Bugs was immediately drawn to the image of McGarrett's right leg, holding in a groan as he looked at the break. It was as bad as he had feared. A tib-fib, and a messy one at that. Both bones in Steve's lower leg had broken, even though only the tibia had protruded out of his skin. Pins, screws, rods, plates, casts, external fixators…. any and all of them loomed in the immediate future for the injured SEAL, not to mention months of grueling physical therapy. And that was the best case scenario.

He moved to the film of the left knee next, pleasantly surprised to find it was better than expected. McGarrett had several inflamed tendons and one that was partially torn but his ACL and other ligaments were mercifully in place. His knee would continue to be swollen and hurt for a while, but it didn't require surgery at the moment. They would continue to watch it but for now, his friend had dodged a bullet.

Bugs exhaled in relief. It was nice to have one lucky break for the lieutenant commander tonight, no pun intended.

"The knee's not too bad," Coburn remarked. "But that leg..." he voice trailed off and he shook his head. "You did amazingly well to stabilize it as much as you did."

Bugs knew that was probably true, considering what he had to work with and the fact that he was bobbing in the choppy ocean in the dark at the time. But looking at the films, it hardly felt like a victory.

The door opened and Janice, the ER nurse, stuck her head in and looked at Bugs. "Petty Officer Wilson is here to see you," she informed him.

"Thank you," he replied. The nurse slipped back out and Bugs turned back to look at the x-rays one more time. "Is Soon scrubbing up?"

"Yes," Coburn replied. "He's almost ready. I'll take these over to him."

Bugs nodded. "Tell him I'll be there in ten. I have something I need to do first."

*H50*

Danny woke briefly, turned over to get comfortable, and drifted off again.

It had been a hell of a week, with not one but two late night raids and a busted drug ring to show for their efforts. But it was over now; the bad guys were in jail and he had filed the paperwork right before he left at six o'clock that evening. After all of that, he was tired.

Normally, Danny slept on some sort of low-level alert, never quite relaxing. It began when Grace was a baby and he slept lightly in anticipation of her waking up crying for a bottle or diaper change. As she got older, his still slept lightly, waiting to calm her as she went through the scary monster in the closet and nightmare phases. And finally, when he joined 5-0, he was always waiting for the phone to ring in the middle of the night with McGarrett on the other end of the line, telling him that the Governor had called and they had a case.

But tonight, he knew none of that was going to happen. It wasn't his weekend for Grace and McGarrett was off playing G.I. Joe until Sunday, so really, there was nothing standing between him and ten hours of well-earned and long awaited peaceful slumber.

Well, nothing besides his phone.

Which was going off, playing "Rocky".

Danny thought he was dreaming at first but then realized he wasn't. He groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. _ Please be a wrong number…._

Then it hit him.

"Rocky" was his new ring tone for McGarrett.

Who was on reserve training.

All weekend.

He pulled the pillow off his head, looked at the clock, and groaned again. Then he reached for his phone and picked it up.

"McGarrett, it's almost two a.m. I swear, if you're not bleeding-"

"Don't worry," a calm voice interrupted. "He is."

_To be continued…._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Danny sped through streets of Honolulu as fast as he could, the Camaro's police lights flashing and sirens wailing, warning the late night partiers to get out of his way. It was a bit of overkill, he knew; he was nowhere near the popular night clubs and the streets were almost deserted. Still, he wasn't taking any chances.

The call from Dr. Carter had been more bracing than three cups of hot coffee. After hearing Steve was injured, Danny was immediately awake. He flipped on the bedside lamp, fumbling for pen and paper. After he found them, he wrote down the pertinent information, which wasn't that much really; just a contact person and a phone number. Less than five minutes later, he was dressed and out the door, trying to decide if he was more scared about McGarrett's condition or angry at him for jumping out of an airplane in the first place.

It was a strange feeling, actually. Whenever Grace got injured, no matter how slight, Danny's entire being— mind, body, and soul- was a tightly wound ball of worry until the crisis had passed. But with McGarrett, injuries usually resulted in an internal battle fought within the confines of Danny's body, with the anger in his head fighting the gnawing worry in his gut, while his heart played peacemaker between the two, trying to assure him that there had to be some logical explanation.

Danny tried not to remember how many times that "logical explanation" had simply been that Steve was an idiot who thought he was indestructible.

As he pulled onto the freeway, he called Catherine and left her a message to call him back. She was on maneuvers in the Persian Gulf for two more weeks but Danny knew she would kill him as soon as she got back if he kept her in the dark. And he had no doubt she had the skills to do it. She and McGarrett were quite the perfect pair.

He debating calling Chin and Kono next but ultimately decided against it. They had both left for the big island right after work for some sort of baby blessing ceremony for one of their cousins. Whether it was a real cousin or the Hawaiian equivalent, he didn't know; and if nothing else, his time with Gabby had taught him enough respect for Hawaiian traditions and culture that he didn't ask.

But it really didn't matter anyway. There was really nothing to tell yet and with no flights to Oahu until sunrise at the earliest, the only thing calling in the middle of the night would do is worry them needlessly. They were better off getting their sleep now because who knew how much rest any of them would get for the next few days. McGarrett was a cranky patient at best and a continual flight risk at worst. They'd need to watch him 24/7 to make sure he stayed put and followed the doctor's orders.

Danny took the exit for Tripler Army Medical Center and pulled his phone out of his pocket, along with a crumpled up piece of paper. He hastily dialed the number he had written down what seemed like a lifetime ago but had really just been minutes before. He was relieved when it was picked up after the first ring.

"Wilson," a young voice answered.

"This is Detective Danny Williams, Steve McGarrett's partner. Dr. Carter gave me this number."

"Yes, sir. He told me to expect your call. You'll need to stop at the entrance gate and get a visitor's pass. Park in the visitor's lot out front and I'll meet you in the lobby."

"How is Steve?" Danny asked, hoping nothing had changed during the drive over.

His question was met with silence.

Danny's stomach dropped.

"How is Steve?" he reiterated loudly and impatiently as he pulled the Camaro to a stop in front of the gate.

"I'll meet you in the lobby, sir."

And before Danny could ask anything else, the line went dead.

*H50*

The hospital lobby was deserted save for a night-duty receptionist, security guard, and one man, standing just inside, dressed in his blue camos or whatever the Navy called them. Danny knew the man must be Wilson, waiting for him just like he promised.

Not that Danny was inclined to give him any brownie points. He was too mad at the lack of information and scared about Steve's well-being to do anything other than light into the younger man.

"Sir, I'm Petty Officer Joshua Wilson-" he began, extending his hand.

"Yeah, I got that," Danny barked back, causing Wilson to drop his hand. "Now, how's Steve?"

Wilson gestured down the hall. "Sir, maybe you'd feel more comfortable if we—"

"You want to know what would make me feel more comfortable?" Danny cut him off, his frustration and helplessness boiling over. "I would feel more _comfortable_ if you would just tell me _what the hell_ _is going on!"_

Wilson looked taken aback by both the angry rant and the flying hands. "Sir—"

"And lose the 'sir'."

"I'm sorry, S-, I mean, Detective Williams. My understanding was that Dr. Carter had fully briefed you on Commander McGarrett's condition."

"He told me Steve had broken his leg on a jump and that it was messy. He also said he would be in surgery for a few hours. Then he gave me your number and said he had to go."

Wilson nodded. "That's most of it."

"Then what's the _rest _of it?" Danny demanded.

"Right as they were taking Commander McGarrett back to surgery, he went into shock," Wilson replied bluntly, evidently deciding, rightly, that Danny wasn't in the mood for sugarcoating. "His blood pressure dropped significantly and the doctors were concerned his organs might not be getting enough oxygen. They did get him stabilized again, but it took a few minutes."

Danny's anger died immediately, surrendering its hold on his head and allowing worry and fear to sweep in and take its place. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew enough; enough to know that oxygen problems often lead to horrendous issues like brain damage. He stood there, motionless for a full minute, before he blew out a large breath and ran his hands over his hair.

"Will there be any lasting effects?" he asked quietly.

Wilson shook his head. "The nurse didn't say."

"What do you mean she didn't say?" Danny demanded, feeling his anger resurrecting itself.

"She didn't say," Wilson reiterated calmly. "But until we hear otherwise, there's no reason to think there will be."

Danny only wished it was that easy. Not worrying wasn't something he did well. While they were married, Rachel used to say he had a black belt in worrying. The fact that he had earned it honestly through years of having friends and partners die on him really didn't help matters. He took a few calming breaths before continuing.

"Is he still stable now?" he asked.

"As far as I know. Dr. Carter said he'd give an update as soon as possible. But he also said it would take a while to clean out all the bacteria."

"Bacteria from what?"

"The ocean," Wilson replied, looking as if he thought Danny already knew that information.

Which he didn't.

Danny's face scrunched up in confusion as he tried to follow. "Wait… Steve jumped into the_ ocean_?"

Wilson nodded. "Believe it or not, it was his best option. Now, if you're willing to take a seat in the waiting room," he gestured down the hallway again, "I can tell you what happened."

*H50*

After Wilson finished telling the story, Danny shook his head, trying to take it all in. "His leg was splinted with a rifle?" he asked incredulously.

"And it worked pretty well," Wilson replied. "You have to get creative out in the field sometimes."

"That may be the best use of a gun I've ever heard of. Not that Steve would think so, of course."

"Actually, I think he would actually agree with you this time."

Danny cringed, his stomach twisting when he tried to imagine the amount of pain Steve must have been in, stranded in the ocean with a broken leg. "That bad, huh?"

Wilson frowned in return. "It didn't look like fun, that's for sure. Not that he said a word about it. But he was in good hands with Bugs."

"Bugs?"

"Doctor Carter," Wilson clarified. "Commander McGarrett is lucky the doctor was jumping tonight. He probably saved his life."

"So he's good?" Danny really hadn't gotten much of a feel for the man during their brief phone conversation.

"He's one of the best trauma surgeons on the island, Navy or otherwise. He won't let anything happen to McGarrett."

"I hope you're right." Danny sighed tiredly. "I swear, if he makes it through this, I'm never letting him jump out of a plane again."

"I'm not sure if you'll have much of a say in that, Detective Williams. Commander McGarrett seems fairly…"

"Reckless?" Danny cut in.

Wilson grinned. "I was going to say 'fearless'."

"Same difference," Danny muttered. "And please, call me Danny."

Wilson nodded. "Alright."

"So, have you known Steve long?"

"I just met him tonight."

Danny looked at the petty officer, surprised. "You just met a few hours ago and yet you're willing to wait up all night to make sure he's ok?"

"He made quite an impression."

"Let me guess—he was going on about the beauty of munitions again."

Wilson grinned again. "Not exactly, Sir- I mean Danny. He was actually really nice to me. I was a bit nervous about jumping and he chilled me out."

"Huh." That wasn't the answer Danny was expecting. "How'd he do that"?

"He told some jokes, got me laughing, and told me just to steer clear of the ocean and I'd be fine."

Danny snorted. "Clearly a 'do as I say, not as I do' teaching moment."

Wilson smiled. "Pretty much."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes and Danny staring down at the drab grey tile floor, kneading his knuckles. Then he looked back up at Wilson, who had picked up and started reading an old magazine. "By the way, I'm sorry."

Wilson looked over, lowering the magazine. "For what?"

"For yelling at you."

Wilson shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Danny raised his eyebrows. "You're used to having cops yell at you? What are you, a criminal?" he joked. "Do I need to run a background check or something?"

"Nothing like that," Wilson assured him, then shrugged. "I'm just used to how people react when their buddies get hurt. I don't take it personally."

"You have a lot of experience with that?"

Wilson averted his eyes, but not before Danny caught a glimpse of pain in them. He wanted to kick himself as he realized the naval petty officer probably had as much or more experience with losing friends than he did.

Wilson, for his part, didn't miss a beat. "More than I'd like."

_Yeah, I'll bet_, Danny thought, mentally giving himself one more kick.

An awkward silence hung between them for a moment. Then Danny sighed. "Well, for what it's worth, I am sorry. I was a royal pain in the you-know-what."

Wilson looked back over. "The 'you-know-what'?" he questioned, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Danny shrugged. "My daughter got this crazy idea for a swear jar from her Aloha Girls leader and I refuse to put more money into it than Step-Stan. So I guess I've gotten used to G-rated talking."

Wilson nodded understandingly. "Daughters will do that to you."

"You have one, too?" Danny asked.

Wilson nodded again, a large smile spreading across his face. "She turns two next month. Best thing that ever happened to me, besides my wife. She's the reason I got out of the Navy full-time and went into the reserves. I couldn't imagine not seeing her for weeks on end during deployments."

Danny smiled back, seeing the younger man in a new light. "Well, then. It looks like we have two things in common; daughters we love and an illogical attachment to one Steven J. McGarrett."

Wilson's smile slowly faded. "He'll be all right, Danny," he said earnestly. "Trust me. It'll just take some time."

Danny leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes before sighing heavily.

"I hope you're right."

*H50*

Minutes crawled, hours dragged, and eventually, it was morning.

Danny had stopped looking at his watch long ago and the waiting room didn't have a window to see the sunrise. But still, he knew it was morning because the family and friends of those having scheduled surgeries began to arrive to hold their own vigils.

Wilson disappeared and returned with two coffees. "Best the Army has to offer," he said, handing one to Danny.

Danny nodded his thanks and took a tentative sip of the scalding brew, making a slight face. "That's not saying much."

Wilson chuckled. "Why do you think I went into the Navy? We get Starbucks."

Danny almost choked. "Seriously?"

"Not everywhere, but we did on the USS Lincoln, where I was assigned. I can't tell you how nice it was to finish a fourteen hour shift and sit down with a cold Frappuccino."

"I could actually use one about now," a new voice broke in, and Danny looked up to see a haggard looking black man with bags under his eyes walking into the waiting room.

Wilson immediately jumped up and saluted. Danny found himself rising to his feet a little more slowly.

The man wearily waved off the salute. "After all we've been thorough tonight, I think we're well past the point of needing salutes, Josh." Then he turned to Danny and offered his hand. "You must be Steve's partner, Danny. Sorry I don't know your last name. I'm Dr. Carter but you can call me Bugs."

"It's Williams," Danny replied. "Detective Danny Williams, actually." He shook Bugs' hand, noting the doctor wasn't anything like what he was expecting. He wasn't crisp and formal, like many military officers, nor did he appear to care about rank. He simply looked like an exhausted man in wrinkled scrubs who had been up all night trying to save his friend.

"How is he?" Danny asked anxiously.

Bugs took a seat and gestured at them to sit down. "He's doing ok."

"Just ok?"

"For now, yeah. Just ok." Bugs took in and then exhaled a deep breath. "Dr. Soon did good work on his leg. He debrided and irrigated it and the bones have been set. But unfortunately, he's starting to show signs of infection. We've got him on a high dose of antibiotics but it'll take some time before we know if they're going to work."

"And if they don't work?" Danny asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it." Bugs replied soothingly.

It wasn't the answer Danny wanted to hear, but he knew it was the only one he was going to get at the moment. So he switched topics. "What about brain damage? Wilson said he had some blood pressure and oxygen issues earlier."

"He did, along with some other signs of shock. But we're confident we addressed and controlled them in a timely manner. There's no indication of long-term impairment. All of his brain functions are normal." Then Bugs gave a small grin. "Well, normal for Steve."

Danny found himself smiling back, in spite of the circumstances. He had to hand it to the doctor- he had a great bedside manner. Or in this case, a chairside manner. Danny wasn't sure if it was his calmness and underlying compassion were innate traits for the man or just a by-product from years of delivering news to waiting friends and family members. He suspected it might be a combination of both. But either way, he was grateful.

"Can we see him?" Danny asked.

Bugs nodded. "But only one of you can come back." He turned to the petty officer. "Wilson, you look like hell. I'm officially giving you the rest of the weekend off. Go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if anything happens."

Wilson nodded. "Yes, sir. But the other men… they'll want to know how McGarrett's doing."

"Then call Pearl on your way home. And then get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"Yes, sir." Wilson stood, shook hands with Danny, and left.

"Now," Bugs said, looking directly at Danny, "I want you to know a few things before we go back. One," he counted off on his index finger, "we have him on some heavy drugs so he's out of it. He's not going to be able to respond and probably won't even know you're there."

"Got it."

"And two," Bugs continued calmly, "he looks awful, his leg in particular. So just know when you see him, it's not as bad as it looks. He's strong and stubborn. He'll get through this."

Danny took the doctor's words in and steeled himself.

Bugs noticed and smiled. "Don't worry, Danny," he said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You will, too."

_To be continued… _


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Danny followed Bugs apprehensively through the doors to the recovery room. At this early hour, most of the beds in the curtained partitions were empty. They passed only two that were occupied before they arrived at the last partition and Bugs stopped.

And there was Steve.

Danny's breath caught in his throat and his heart sank upon seeing his partner, all of his previous anger vanishing for good.

It was a lot to take in.

Steve was unconscious, as Bugs told Danny he would be, with an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. His face was pale and sweaty, with dark circles under his eyes and a hint of rose blooming on his cheeks from the fever. Several butterfly bandages closed an angry looking cut on his bruised neck, just below his chin. His hospital gown was slightly askew, revealing additional bruising on his shoulders and torso. Several leads trailed up to a heart monitor, which was beeping steadily. Next to the monitor was an IV stand, where multiple clear bags of fluid were hanging, their tubing leading back down and terminating in a needle inserted just below Steve's left clavicle. Clamped on his left index finger was a pulse ox. Someone had draped a blanket across his ribcage down to his thighs, both for warmth and modesty, Danny presumed.

From the waist up, Steve looked bad, but not too bad, Danny concluded.

But from the waist down, he looked like a disaster.

Danny didn't know what he had been expecting—maybe a cast stretching the length of Steve's leg that Danny could threaten to sign with a sharpie—but that's not what his friend had. Instead, his right leg was elevated on pillows and immobilized by a gruesome looking circular device that Danny thought looked like a tomato plant cage designed by Frankenstein. To make matters worse, it was attached to Steve's leg by pins that pierced his skin in multiple places. His entire leg was swollen, colored by a mottled combination of deep pinks, purples, and black. Right below his knee was a jagged row of black stitches, evidently closing the spot where Steve's bone broke off and punctured his leg.

It was almost too painful to look at. But still, Danny found himself staring in horror, unable to break away from the sight of the damaged leg and metal contraption.

"It's called an external fixator," Bugs explained, seemingly reading Danny's mind. "The cage is pinned into the bone in less injured areas and then used to manipulate the leg into position."

Danny tried really hard not to blanch. He didn't succeed.

"Believe it or not, it's less invasive then internal plates and screws," Bugs continued. "McGarrett's long term mobility will be a lot better this way. Plus, it will let us keep a better eye on his infection and allow us to clean his leg out, if necessary."

Danny nodded numbly, not quite sure what to say. So he remained silent as he fought down the rising nausea.

"The good news is, his left knee is doing well," Bugs continued, and Danny noticed for the first time that Steve's other leg was injured as well. He'd been so fixated on the hideously broken right leg that he hadn't even noticed his left knee was also elevated and discolored, swollen to double its normal size.

"What's wrong with it?" Danny managed to ask, hoping Steve's ACL had not been torn.

"Just some sprained tendons," Bugs replied. "Nothing that won't heal in time. Thankfully, his ACL is fine."

"That's good," Danny mumbled, glad McGarrett didn't have to contend with that as well. "Torn ACLs aren't fun."

"Yeah. Steve told me you tore yours a while back."

Danny's head snapped up in surprise, the remark breaking him from the train wreck that was his friend's body. "Steve told you that?"

Bugs nodded. "You get to know a person pretty well when you're stranded in the ocean together. We had almost two hours of nothing to do but talk and swim."

"And survive," Danny added. "Wilson told me you changed course and went after Steve. He probably wouldn't be here if not for you." He looked at the doctor solemnly and nodded sincerely. "Thank you for saving him."

"Well, Steve and I probably wouldn't be here if not for Wilson and Jennings. It's just a big circle, Detective. Besides," Bugs smiled tiredly, "I was just doing my job."

Danny snorted lightly and looked back down at Steve, broken in the hospital bed. "And here I thought it was my job to keep McGarrett alive, regardless of his crazy antics."

Bugs chuckled. "Well, tonight it was a tag team effort."

"Speaking of tag teams-" Danny pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was 6:57 a.m. Still a bit early, but it was clear he was going to need reinforcements. "I need to make a call. Do you mind watching him a second so I can step into the hall?"

"Sure. No problem."

*H50*

After Danny left, Bugs sat down in the chair next to Steve's bed and let out a large breath. He was beyond tired and tried not to remember he had been up for over 24 hours, two of which were spent in the ocean and another four in surgery.

He glanced at the monitors, which indicated his patient was stable even though his temperature continued to rise slowly, then looked back down at Steve. He and McGarrett went back a long way and this wasn't even the worst condition he had seen his friend in. But it was still bad enough, with the worst yet to come.

The surgery had been long and tedious. Dr. Soon was a great orthopedic surgeon and he had given McGarrett as good of a shot as possible for recovering with complete mobility. But the infection was their main concern. Bugs was confident the debridement and irrigation process flushed out everything it needed to, but still the bacteria had a two hour head start. Who knows where it went in that time? The possibilities were troubling, to say the least.

Bugs rubbed his hand over his face and closed his eyes, reminding himself he had done the best he could, considering the less than optimal conditions and horrific nature of McGarrett's injury. And they had gotten him to the hospital almost as quickly as they could. He just hoped the extra five minutes they took to pick up the rest of the reserve team on the beach wouldn't come back to haunt them. Only time would tell. In the meantime, they would continue to monitor his condition and push antibiotics, but the rest was up to Steve. Bugs was just glad the SEAL would have some support this time.

When he first met McGarrett, Steve had been brought in after his unit was ambushed in northern Africa. While Bugs attempted to stabilize him enough for surgery, a petty officer was trying to elicit a contact number from Steve, someone they could call for him. But injured man told him there was no one.

It wasn't a response Bugs was used to hearing, especially from a man hurt so badly. There was always someone; a wife, girlfriend, brother, mom, or dad. Even if the injured soldier was half-delirious, screaming and crying from pain, there was always _someone. _Someone they longed to see one more time, no matter how long the odds.

But not this time.

It unsettled him even as he worked feverishly to staunch the copious amount of blood spilling out of McGarrett's body. And he couldn't help but wonder what on earth had happened to make the young man feel so alone.

In the following days, McGarrett had plenty of SEAL buddies visiting him and he was rarely by himself, other than for doctor-mandated rest periods. In those times, in the minutes when Steve was alone, lucid, and the drugs weren't clouding his thinking, Bugs would sometimes sit down by his bedside. Sometimes, they discussed trivial things. Sometimes, their talks were decidedly more serious. But most of the time, they said nothing, and just sat in companionable silence until Steve drifted off to sleep.

Bugs told himself his presence was better than nothing; that an occasional visit from a tried doctor in sweaty scrubs was better than an empty chair. But it still bothered him to put Steve on a medical flight to Germany for additional surgery a week later knowing there wouldn't be anyone on the other end to look out for him while he recovered. Bugs kept tabs on him for the three weeks McGarrett was at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center and by the time he was discharged from the hospital, they were well on their way to becoming friends. They didn't run across each other again for a few more years, but when they did, they picked back up like it was yesterday.

McGarrett had pulled through then and Bugs knew he could do it again.

But in the meantime, they were in for a bumpy ride.

*H50*

"See you then, Chin." Danny disconnected the call, glad that help was on the way. Chin and Kono were going to apologize to their cousin, pack up, and take the first flight back to Honolulu. They would arrive sometime before lunch.

Danny ran his hands over his hair, composing himself and gearing up for the day, knowing this might very well be his last moment alone for a while. Then he opened the door and stepped back into the recovery room.

Dr. Carter, or "Bugs" Danny reminded himself, was sitting by Steve's bedside. He looked like he was asleep and Danny couldn't blame the man if that was the case. He looked exhausted and then some. Steve could be trying enough when he was healthy and things were going fine. And while Danny_ could_ imagine being stranded in the middle of the ocean with Steve (been there, done that, had a picture of a tuney fish and a dinner bill from Kamekona to prove it), he could hardly imagine enduring it if Steve had a broken leg and bum knee and they hadn't been in a boat ("it's a dinghy", he could hear Steve correcting him in his head). Danny felt an overwhelming surge of sympathy for the doctor. It couldn't have been a picnic.

Danny tried to close the door quietly but Bugs still heard it. His eyes popped open.

"Sorry," Danny apologized.

"Don't be," Bugs replied, slowly getting to his feet. "I was just on my way out. If you've got things covered, that is."

"I'm good," Danny replied. "And the rest of the team is on their way."

Bugs nodded. "Ok." He paused to scribble something one piece of a paper, then handed it to Danny. "Dr. Soon should be by shortly. But here's my cell number just in case you have any questions. And the nurses already know to page me if something happens. Otherwise, I'll be back to check on him tonight."

"Thanks." Danny took the paper and folded it, placing it in his pocket. Then he held out his hand. "It was nice meeting you. And thanks again for taking care of Steve."

Bugs smiled and returned his handshake. "That's what friends are for. Well, that and for buying each other beer."

Danny laughed. "I knew I liked you. When we get through with all of this, I'll buy the first round."

Bugs chuckled as he headed for the door. "And Steve can buy the second."

"Deal." Danny waved as the doctor left. He stood there, watching as the door slowly closed, before he turned and looked back at Steve.

Then he silently took his place in the still warm plastic chair and began the wait.

*H50*

The first hour was uneventful.

Dr. Soon came to check on Steve and seemed satisfied with his status. Steve's vitals were stable, his temperature had only risen two tenths of a degree, and his leg didn't look any worse, or so Dr. Soon said. To Danny's untrained eye, it didn't look any better, either, but the doctor didn't seem overly impressed when Danny voiced his opinion. But the main thing was Steve was doing well enough to transfer to a private room once the anesthesia wore off.

Which it seemed to do, all at once, making the second hour a little more interesting.

*H50*

He was floating again, lying on his back as the ocean gently washed in and out of his ears. His leg didn't hurt quite as much anymore; the intense throbbing had dulled to a vague, pervasive ache. The relief was mental as well as physical. A person can only be in extreme pain for so long before it chips away at their psyche, reducing them to a jumbled bundle of frayed nerves.

And now that the pain was under control, he noticed he was cold. Really cold. That wasn't a good sign; hypothermia must be setting in. It was time to start swimming again. No matter what Bugs said about swim for three, rest for one, their rest break was o…

Bugs!

He startled and tried to roll over, his eyes unseeing as he frantically looked for his friend. He needed to find him. Needed to find him, needed to swim to him, needed to …

Someone grabbed his arms, pinning him down. He struggled, trying to get free, but to no avail. Suddenly, it was loud and bright and someone was calling his name.

"Steve!"

Bugs?

"Steve!"

Again. More insistent this time. He listened closely.

And it wasn't Bugs… it was… _Danny?_

_Why the hell was Danny in the ocean? _

"Steve! You're in the hospital! Stop thrashing around or you're going to hurt yourself!"

_Wait… the hospital_?

_How did that happen?_

He stilled and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take it in.

"Good job," Danny coaxed. "You're ok, Steve. You're safe."

Steve breathed in and out raggedly, trying to make sense of things. _Safe. Hospital. Ok._

As he focused, the gentle sound of the ocean disappeared, replaced by the white noise caused by an oxygen mask. He wasn't floating on his back any longer, he was lying in a hospital bed. And Bugs wasn't with him, but Danny.

Which meant…

His eyes flew open, blinded by the bright lights. "Bugs?" he gasped.

"No, no talking," Danny ordered.

Steve's eyes adjusted to the light and tracked over to see his very concerned looking partner. He had to make him understand. Bugs had been out there, too, but he'd been pulled away by the rip current. They needed to find him…

"Bugs," he wheezed inaudibly, then reached to move the oxygen mask.

"Commander, I know you're confused, but you need to leave that alone," a nurse in pink scrubs told him, moving to put the mask back in place. _Where had she come from?_

Danny intercepted her. "Just leave it off for a second. He's never going to stop struggling otherwise."

The nurse looked at Steve and then back at Danny doubtfully, but she let it go.

"Now, what was that?" Danny asked, leaning down and turning his head to the side so he could hear better.

"Bugs," Steve croaked. "Need to find him."

Danny straightened back up and looked at him intently. "Bugs is fine, Steve. He's probably at home sleeping right now. You don't remember being rescued?"

_Remember?_ _Hell no, he didn't remember._ The last thing he knew, he and Bugs were swimming for shore and then the current swept his friend away. He furrowed his brow, trying to connect the dots, but gave up after a few moments.

"Look, it's ok," Danny was saying, clearly trying to appease him. "You've got a lot of heavy drugs running through your system. I'm sure it'll come back to you once they're gone."

Steve could only hope Danny was right. And for now, he'd just have to take his partner's word for it that Bugs was ok. But what about the others— the rest of the team had landed on the beach. Or at least he hoped they had. Were they still out there in the storm? He had to know.

"The others?" he asked.

"All fine," Danny assured him, resting his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. "I actually spent most of the night sitting by Wilson in the waiting room. They were all worried about you but otherwise ok."

Steve frowned. No wonder Danny looked so tired and rumpled. All _night_? Just exactly how long had he been out of it?

"How long?"

"You've been out of it for about eight hours now," Danny replied, reading his mind. "And question time is over. Now," he raised the oxygen mask off Steve's chest, "will you just wear this thing and rest?"

Steve looked at it distastefully but was too tired and weak to protest. Finally, he nodded.

"Ok, then." Danny placed it gently back on his face. "Just sleep. We've got it all taken care of."

Before Steve could reply, he felt his eyes drift shut and his body began to float.

And this time, he didn't fight it at all.

_To be continued…_

* * *

A/N: Look at that! What, *_three*_ chapters in a row without a cliffie? What's gotten into me? (And you're welcome). ;D

(and no... it won't last.)

*evil grin*


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Shortly after Steve went back to sleep, he was transferred to a private room. He slept all the way there and didn't even stir in the loud hallway or when the elevator door dinged, announcing his arrival to the floor that would be his new home for the next few days.

Danny walked beside the gurney and then quickly settled into the new room. Not that there was much settling in to do; he simply placed the bag with Steve's belongings in the small closet, opened the blinds, and took a seat in the chair. That was it.

He pulled out his phone and texted Chin and Kono, letting them know Steve's room number. Their flight was already in the air so they would get the message when they landed. He was about to call Catherine when she beat him to it. "Williams," he answered.

"Danny, it's Catherine," she said urgently. "I just got your message. How's Steve?"

Danny could hear the panic in her voice and it almost made him smile. He was glad his friend had someone special in his life that cared so much about him. "He's doing fine for now," he reassured her.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"He was in an accident on a training jump," he began, calmly easing into it. There was no good way to relay the information, especially when Cath was thousands of miles away, but he would do his best. "His chute didn't open all the way and he hit the ocean pretty hard. He hurt his left knee a bit but it should be fine. He also broke his right leg and it's in an immobilizer. But the bone punctured the skin so they're watching him for an infection." When he finished, he could actually hear Catherine holding her breath on the other end of the line.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again, her voice trembling. "How bad is it?"

Danny sighed. "His leg looks bad but the doc thinks he might get full mobility back," he said. "And as far as the infection goes, I don't know yet. But they're giving him a lot of antibiotics and watching him pretty closely."

Cath took a deep breath on the line, then asked, "Can I talk to him?"

"He's asleep, but I know he'd want to talk to you. Hold on a sec…" Danny walked over to Steve's bedside and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Steve. Hey, Steve." He shook his shoulder gently, eliciting a sleepy moan. "Steve, Catherine is on the phone. Do you want to talk to her?"

Steve eyes slowly slid open. He looked over at Danny, confused.

Danny held out the phone. "Do you want to talk to Cath?" he asked again. Understanding penetrated Steve's eyes and he held out his hand. Danny placed the phone in his hand. "I'll step out and give you kids some privacy."

As he walked out, Steve held the phone up to his ear and after a moment, he smiled.

And watching his friend, Danny couldn't help but do the same.

*H50*

Danny took the opportunity to go down to the hospital cafeteria grab some coffee. It wasn't any better than the last time, when Wilson brought him a cup in the waiting room. But it was hot and caffeinated so it would have to do until he could leave and get something else. His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been hours since he'd eaten, so he also grabbed some scrambled eggs and toast before the cafeteria closed down for the rest of the morning.

He quickly ate his breakfast then headed back to Steve's room only to find him asleep again, the phone clutched loosely in his right hand. Danny reached over to remove it as gently as he could, but still wound up waking his friend, whose face contorted from pain.

"Hey, it's just me," Danny told him gently, patting him on the arm. "Go back to sleep."

*H50*

Steve tried, but he couldn't make out Danny's words. They were lost in the background, adding yet another layer to the hissing white noise that was quickly becoming the soundtrack of his waking moments. He was disoriented and struggled to open his eyes and blinked once, then twice before the room came into focus.

Danny leaned over, his face looming in Steve's line of vision. "Everything's fine," he explained, correctly assuming Steve was disoriented. "You just fell asleep." He glanced over to a cup sitting on top of the rolling tray on the opposite side of Steve's bed. "Are you thirsty?"

Steve nodded slowly, realizing for the first time his mouth was completely dry. He watched through hooded eyes as Danny filled the cup up at the sink, then brought it over and held the straw to Steve's lips.

He took a sip of the cool water, savoring the relief on his parched tongue and throat. But the second the water hit his stomach, he regretted it. What was just a touch of queasiness in this stomach before the drink grew into full-fledged nausea the moment he finished swallowing. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

"You want more?" he heard Danny ask.

Steve shook his head minutely, trying his best not to move at all for fear of making the nausea worse.

"Ok, then," he heard Danny say. "I'll leave it here in case you change your mind later. Just go back to sleep for now."

Steve didn't have to be told again.

Because the truth of the matter was he was exhausted. Even speaking with Cath on the phone had been taxing and he was fairly certain he had drifted off before the end of the call. Drugs or not, he knew he knew he was in bad shape if he couldn't stay awake through a two minute conversation with the person who might very well be the love of his life. Not that he'd ever admit that or anything.

Plus, not only was his stomach upset but the pain was still there. Thankfully, it was more diffuse now, courtesy of what he was sure was a heavy drug regimen. Usually, Steve hated taking drugs, but even he could admit there was a time and a place for them. And right now, it was both.

He'd taken a glance at his leg and knee while Danny was out and seen the damage. It wasn't pretty, to say the least, but he had both seen and had worse. It would take a grueling course of physical therapy and some time to recover, but he would get back to normal. Anything less was simply unacceptable.

Still, he hated feeling so weak, so helpless, so vulnerable; punctured by needles and screws and surrounded by tubes and machines, being waited on like an invalid. It stung at his pride far more than it should have. But he simply didn't have the energy to do anything about it right now.

Maybe Danny was right. Sleep now, deal with the rest later.

It sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan, one he shouldn't fight.

So he didn't.

*H50*

The rest of the morning was uneventful; nurses came, nurses went; checking vitals, pushing meds, writing notes in Steve's chart. Food services dropped off a lunch tray at 10:50 a.m., making Danny question who on earth besides a preschooler would consider 10:50 an appropriate lunch time. Of course, looking at the tray of red Jell-O and clear broth, he concluded it wasn't really an appropriate lunch, either, so it was fitting somehow. He put the tray aside and saved it, in case Steve wanted to eat something the next time he woke up. He turned on the TV, but the only thing on besides infomercials and cartoons were the prelims of a surfing competition, which only reminded Danny why he never watched TV on Saturday mornings.

Needless to say, he was quite happy when the door opened slowly, revealing his two favorite cousins.

"Hey," Danny said, getting up off his chair for the first time over an hour. The kinks in his neck and back protested and he stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck, trying to work them out.

"Hey, Danny," Chin replied softly, but he barely glanced at the detective. Instead, his eyes, just like Kono's, were riveted to Steve. Not that Danny could blame them. McGarrett was a bruised, bandaged, clammy mess with a horrific looking contraption on his leg. A little staring was warranted, at least at first. Of course, that would have to change the moment Steve woke up; he'd be embarrassed and annoyed by the gawking. But until then, it was no harm, no foul. It was better they all got it out of their systems now.

"How is he?" Kono finally asked, keeping her voice low.

"Ok, so they say." He shrugged when both of them looked at him doubtfully. "Yeah, I know. It's hard to believe. But his knee and leg should heal. They're mainly just watching for an infection; which, based on the way his temp keeps going up, looks like a definite possibility." He'd made a point to ask what Steve's temperature was every time a nurse checked his vitals. But even if they hadn't told him, the redness of Steve's ears and the flush spreading from the hollows of his cheeks across his face would have clued Danny in.

Chin glanced up. "Aren't they giving him antibiotics?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah. Some heavy duty ones, from what I understand. But he was in the water for a long time with his leg open. Who knows what floated in there." Which Danny realized was just another reason to hate the ocean. He quickly added "bacteria" to his mental list, right after "sharks" but before "because it tastes bad".

"So, what. We just wait?" Kono asked.

"Pretty much." Danny looked down at his watch. "Steve's doctor said he'd stop by around noon so he should be here soon."

"Ok, then." Chin nodded and blew out large breath. "Danny, you've been here all night. Why don't you go home? We've got it from here."

Danny looked over at Steve, who was still asleep. It was a tempting offer. Very tempting, actually. But he doubted he'd be able to sleep anyway, not until he knew Steve was out of the woods. He shook his head. "No. I'll stay. At least until the doc gets here."

Chin nodded his understanding. "Then I'll go look for two more chairs."

*H50*

Dr. Soon arrived at exactly twelve o'clock with a nurse in tow, making Danny wonder if military people had a supernatural ability to bend time. It seemed like they were never late for anything.

After introductions were made, Danny sat back and watched as the doctor read Steve's chart, checked his vitals, and began conducting his exam. It was getting easier for him to look at the external fixator. It still looked painful and unnatural but he was getting used to it. But Danny couldn't help but wince when Dr. Soon gently peeled off the layers of gauze and looked at the stitches in Steve's right leg. The skin looked even more discolored, it's bruising deepening as the day went on, revealing the true magnitude of the trauma. Even worse, the skin around the stitches was beginning to pucker and the leg as a whole looked more swollen, something Danny didn't think was even possible. The good news was his left knee looked about the same, with no discernible deterioration in its condition.

Dr. Soon woke Steve up for a moment, questioning him about his pain level and asking him if he was nauseated, although Danny suspected he was just trying to see how alert his partner was. Steve mumbled a few responses that Danny couldn't quite hear before closing his eyes and lapsing back into a restless sleep. The doctor finished his exam, noted a few things in his chart, and rattled off a few instructions to the nurse who hurried off, before turning his attention to the Five-0 team.

"So? How is he?" Danny asked impatiently.

"He's ok," the doctor replied, giving nothing away either verbally or physically.

Danny sighed, recognizing two things: one, the doctor was hedging; and two, he would make a hell of a poker player. In either case, he simply wasn't in the mood. He was half-way tempted to call Bugs and conference him in to get a straight answer, but decided against it. The man had done enough for one day and deserved to sleep. Besides, he was more than capable of handling this on his own. Danny hadn't become a detective for nothing.

"And 'ok' means…" Danny pried.

"'Ok' means that's he's doing as well as can be expected," Dr. Soon replied, clarifying basically nothing. But upon seeing the angry expression on Danny's face, he evidently decided to be a little more forthcoming. "His left knee looks good. His right leg is showing some increased swelling which could be indicative of infection. But we don't have enough information to warrant going back in at this point."

Danny considered the information. The news the doctor shared wasn't great, but it also wasn't that bad. So really, there hadn't been any reason for him not to say all of that in the first place. Poker face or not, he was still hiding something. Danny just knew it. And he was going to call his bluff.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, ignoring the 'what are you doing?' look Kono shot at him.

The doctor waited a beat, then sighed. "Commander McGarrett's heart rate is elevated and temperature is still rising, more than I'd like. In short, it looks like he definitely has an infection. And it's gaining ground."

"Then give him some more antibiotics," Danny ordered, glancing at numerous bags hanging from the IV stand.

"We're already giving him a broad spectrum of antibiotics, Detective Williams," Dr. Soon replied. "He's already on the maximum dosage, along with an antiemetic for the resulting nausea. We're going to monitor him closely and run some tests, but right at this moment, that's the most we can do."

Danny shook his head. There had to be something else; something besides sitting here, doing nothing, and hoping for the best. "What about going back in and cleaning out his leg? That would work, right?"

"Like I said, we don't have enough information to do that. At least, not yet."

"He's got an infection!" Danny practically shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "What more information do you need?"

If the doctor was surprised by the outburst, he didn't show it. "We need to know the source of the infection, Detective Williams," he replied calmly. "We can't go in and indiscriminately cut away at things. We need the MRI and lab results to tell us what we're looking for. The infection could be at the incision site, somewhere inside the wound, or even inside his bone."

Danny was taken aback and his hands dropped to his sides, uncharacteristically still. The bone? The_ bone_? Danny wasn't a doctor, but an infected bone sounded… well, it sounded really bad. His brain tried to come up with a more adequate word, but came up empty.

Chin stepped in and filled the silence. "What if it's the bone?"

Dr. Soon sighed. "We could do a bone biopsy to determine which exact bacteria we are working against and treat him aggressively with a specific antibiotic. We could also put him in a hyperbaric chamber to increase oxygen flow to the bone and promote healing. But if he doesn't respond to treatment or the infection is too advanced, we might be forced to remove the part of the bone, all of the bone, or even the leg."

Danny stared numbly, trying to comprehend the news. It wasn't easy.

Steve, without a leg; not running after perps, not tackling them on the beach, not sliding down escalators. It was almost unfathomable and didn't fit with his mental image of Steve at all. He knew prosthetics were incredible now days, as the Hookman case had taught him, but still…

He vigorously scrubbed his hands over his face and trailed them back over his hair before finally speaking.

"And if it's not his bone?" he asked, looking for a glimmer of hope.

The doctor looked Danny straight in the eye. "Then it could be soft tissue damage and we'll clean it out. But it's also possible the infection will go or has already gone systemic."

Danny stomach dropped and his mind reeled. He thought the infected bone scenario was bad enough. But a systemic infection… Rachel had forced him to watch enough Grey's Anatomy back in the day that he knew what that meant. Steve's whole body could get infected. Sepsis could set in.

Actually, he might already be septic. Steve's life could have effectively ended while he was trying to survive in the ocean and Danny was sleeping comfortably in his bed, blissfully unaware that his partner and best friend was already dying. It was almost impossible to comprehend.

Dr. Soon was looking at Danny with compassion and sympathy, his poker face now dissolved completely. And Danny couldn't help but want it back. He'd forced the doctor to deal, to play all of his cards and lay them bare on the table for all to see. But now, he couldn't help but wish he'd let Dr. Soon keep them close to his vest a little while longer.

Because there was nothing to be gained from this knowledge.

Steve could be fine.

He could lose a leg.

Or he could die.

And all Danny could do was sit and wait to find out which hand was the winner.

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

He was hot and sweating and the heat just kept building.

Steve thought he should have gotten used to the heat over the years; after all, he was raised in Hawaii and his deployments with SEAL Team 3 kept him almost exclusively in the Middle East. Afghanistan, Iraq, Kuwait… none of them were exactly a garden spot of the world. And even though the temperatures hovered near freezing on cold winter nights, it was the summer afternoons with their blistering heat of up to 120 degrees that stood out most in his consciousness.

He wasn't that hot now- at least not yet— but he wouldn't be opposed to taking off his gear and jumping in the shower to cool off.

That's when he realized he wasn't wearing his gear. His rifle was gone and his ruck wasn't on his back. And now that he thought about it, his helmet and vest were both gone, too. He frowned, wondering what happened to them. His CO was going to be livid if Steve came back without them. He'd better find them and quickly. He was about to start looking when he heard a loud clunk nearby, startling him.

He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. He was lying on his back, encased in a cylindrical tube and surrounded by metal on all sides.

_How the hell did he get here?_

He had been out on a routine assignment; nothing fancy about it. But obviously, something had gone very, very wrong. His breath quickened as he fought down the rising panic. He tried to sit up, to get out of the claustrophobic coffin, but someone shouted out in surprise and pushed him back down.

And then the pain… the pain surfaced and it was all he could do to not scream in agony. A set of strong hands held him down by the shoulders. He tried to turn his head to see, but couldn't quite get the right angle to see the man's face. He wanted to ask what was going on, what was wrong, but the words got lost in a jumble in his brain and his tongue felt clumsy and thick.

_Drugs,_ he realized. Heavy drugs. Heavy enough to disorient him and cloud his thinking but not heavy enough to actually make the pain go away.

He had to tell them; to make them understand that whatever they were giving him wasn't working. But more importantly, he needed to ask them what had happened. Where was he? How did he get here? And most importantly, what had happened to his men?

He tried to move again, but the man's iron grip on his shoulders didn't budge. The man said something Steve couldn't comprehend, but he recognized the tone: some might call it soothing; he called it dismissive. And he wasn't about to be dismissed.

He thrashed, trying to break the man's hold, not caring if he whacked his head on the metal surrounding him or not. But Steve was unsuccessful. The man held fast, shouted, and quickly another set of hands quickly appeared next to him. The hands were large, black, and pulling down a syringe from a vial.

He wanted to protest, to say he didn't need more useless drugs; he needed to know what had happened. But he didn't get a chance. He saw the needle drawing closer to his face, then it disappeared from his line of vision. Seconds later, a coolness flooded through his clavicle and he realized the injection must have been inserted into a central line that he didn't even know he had.

At first, the coolness was merciful, tempering the burning heat that was raging inside of him. But as it spread through his body, his limbs and eyes grew heavy.

A sedative, he realized belatedly, his brain becoming as drowsy as his body.

_No…_

And then, there was nothing.

*H50*

Danny was sick of waiting. They all were.

But while Chin and Kono had the patience to sit in Steve's room and make small talk while they waited on the test results, he didn't.

When the nurses descended on Steve's room, taking so many vials of blood that he wondered if the SEAL would had any left, Danny paced back and forth, scowling and doing his best not to look. When the orderlies came to take Steve to the MRI, he tagged along until they told him he couldn't come any farther and then he resorted to wandering the nearby halls. Finally, when he couldn't stand it anymore, he came back and parked himself outside the door to radiology. And when a nurse told him he needed to move along, that he couldn't stand in the hallway, he flashed his badge and deadpanned, "wanna bet?"

But mainly, Danny tried not to worry. "Tried" being the operative word because he tried; tried and failed.

Miserably.

Not that McGarrett was making it easy on him, mind you. The quality of his fitful sleep had done nothing but deteriorate after the nurses arrived and leeched him of his blood like a brood of hungry vampires. He tossed and turned, agitated and mumbling incoherently, and try as they might, neither Danny, Chin, or Kono could make out anything he was saying. They watched as their boss jerked around more with every uptick of his fever and they all became seriously concerned that Steve might be delirious. Kono had run down the hall, bringing a nurse back with her, who looked at her patient's stats and quickly gave him another shot of something. Whatever it was, it seemed to ease his partner's sleep, but even afterwards, Danny could still see Steve's eyeballs frantically darting below his closed eyelids, looking for who knew what in the darkness.

So all in all, Danny had good reason to hover and fret like a parent waiting up all night with a sick child.

Finally, after well over an hour, the doors opened and a young radiology tech stood to the side as the orderlies pushed McGarrett through. Danny immediately stopped the rolling bed and went to his partner's side to take a look, concerned by what he saw. Steve was sweating heavily and his cheeks were even more flushed while the rest of his face appeared gaunt and drawn. The circles under his eyes had darkened and he was clearly agitated. He had also started shivering. In short, he looked even worse than before he went in, something Danny didn't even think was possible.

"What happened in there?" Danny demanded.

The radiology tech looked at Danny uncertainly.

"Look, I'm his emergency contact," Danny barked at the tech, his frustration palpable. "You can tell me."

The tech glanced at Steve nervously, then back at Danny. "Nothing," he answered timidly.

Danny glared.

"No, really, nothing happened," the tech continued, words tumbling out of his mouth quickly now. "He mumbled some, something about losing his ruck and vest and his CO getting mad, but that was about it. Other than that, his temp did go up some more, so a nurse called Dr. Soon. He ordered us to send Commander McGarrett to the ICU so that's where we're taking him now."

"Wait… what?" Danny's brow furrowed as he tried to understand. "The ICU?" His confusion quickly gave way to anger. "You're telling me nothing happened in there but now he needs to go to the ICU?"

The tech shrugged. "I don't know what else to tell you, sir. But you're welcome to go up with him and ask Dr. Soon when he gets there with the test results."

"You bet I will," he replied angrily. The tech nodded and closed the door to radiology, clearly glad to escape the wrath of an upset Danny Williams.

Danny walked alongside Steve as he was pushed down the hall, taking a few deep breaths and trying to calm himself with each step. It worked marginally. But the orderlies still exchanged quick glances when Danny punched the elevator button with far more force than was required. He watched the numbers light up as the elevator made its way toward them before getting hung up on the third floor. He sighed and looked down at Steve. His partner shifted slightly in his troubled sleep, eliciting a soft moan. Danny grasped his friend's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "You're going to be ok," he said, with as much conviction as he could muster.

He only wished he believed it as well.

*H50*

"_You're going to be ok." _

The words barely pierced Steve's consciousness and he wasn't sure whether to believe the speaker or not. Still, it was oddly comforting, to know someone was there, looking out for him. If only he knew where he was and why that was necessary.

He wanted to ask, to know the answers to questions his mind couldn't form. But his mouth wasn't cooperating any more than his brain. They both felt sluggish, mired in webs of cotton that he couldn't tear down.

But the voice said he was going to be ok. He would just have to trust in that.

Because really, he had no other choice.

*H50*

Once they arrived in the ICU, the head nurse introduced herself, then sent Danny away as she settled Steve into his new room. He walked downstairs, back to the old room, to tell Chin and Kono the change in plans. They were as worried as he was.

"And that was all the tech said?" Chin questioned as they made they rode in the elevator.

"Yeah," Danny responded, carrying the bag with Steve's meager belongings in his hand.

"Maybe the sedative the nurse gave him wore off," Kono offered hopefully. "It might be as simple as that."

"I guess," Danny responded dully. It could be that… but he had a feeling it was something else entirely.

The elevator dinged and they stepped off, walking down the hall in silence until they arrived at Steve's new room. They stopped in the doorway and stared at the new surroundings.

The ICU room was small, with room for only one chair. At least the room looked small; Danny realized upon further inspection that it was actually a decent size. But the space was taken up by all the machinery, barely leaving enough room for Steve's bed and the lonely plastic chair. Most of the machines looked foreign to him, but he'd been at enough bedsides to realize what some of them were: cardiac monitors, ventilators, bypass machines, defibrillators… Each and every one of them were useful for one thing—keeping someone alive. Danny took a little solace in the fact that only one of them, some type of monitoring device that had leads going everywhere, was currently hooked up to his friend. He prayed it would stay that way.

"Visiting hours end at eight," a voice said from behind. Danny turned to see the head nurse was back; Nurse Greer if he remember correctly. She looked at all of them sympathetically, then continued. "Only one visitor is allowed at a time, but there is a waiting room just down the hall on the left."

They all glanced down the hall, then looked at each other, trying to decide who would take the first shift.

"I'll take it," Kono offered. "You could use some rest, Danny," she said, not unkindly. "Why don't you take a nap in the chairs. I'll let you know if anything happens."

"And I'll go get us some dinner," Chin piped in, glancing at his watch. "It's almost six."

Danny pulled out his phone, checking the time in disbelief. How could it already be six? And how on earth wasn't it already past six? It was simultaneously the shortest and the longest afternoon of his life, save for when Rachel was in labor with Grace. He placed the phone back in his pocket, then rubbed his eyes, trailing his hands back over his hair. "Sounds good," he conceded. "Chin, would you mind picking up my spare charger from the office? My phone's almost dead."

"No problem, brah. Be back in a few." He headed off, leaving the two others standing alone.

"You promise you'll come get me?" Danny asked.

Kono nodded then gave him a hug. "Go rest, Danny."

He nodded numbly, then went down hall and settled into a bank of chairs. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, even though he didn't think he'd be able to sleep.

He was wrong.

*H50*

The next thing he knew, Chin was back, toting dinner with him. He left the food with Danny, then went down the hall to relieve Kono. She took a seat next to Danny in the waiting room and they sat there in silence, both picking at their plates. Danny's stomach rumbled and he knew he needed to eat, but it all tasted like sawdust as he choked the food down.

After a few minutes, he gave up and chunked his dinner in the trash. He headed down to Steve's room to take over and allow Chin to eat, stopping by the nurses' station on the way.

"When is Dr. Soon coming up?" he asked. He was more than a little irritated that the doctor hadn't shown already. After all, it wasn't like his patient was in the ICU or anything.

Nurse Greer looked up. "He's still reviewing the MRI and lab results, but he should be here after that."

It wasn't the answer Danny wanted—he would have preferred "he's on his way and Commander McGarrett is his number one priority"—but it was obvious he wasn't going to get that. He muttered his thanks, then went to Steve's room.

"Any change?" he asked Chin, taking in the scene before him.

Chin shook his head. "No. He mumbles from time to time, but that's it. I don't think he even knows where he his."

Danny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to make his headache go away. "Ok. I'll take the next shift. Why don't you go eat some chicken katsu before it gets cold."

Chin nodded and left, leaving the lone chair vacant. Danny had barely sat down in it before he noticed movement to his left. He looked up, expecting to see a nurse or Dr. Soon, but was surprised to see someone else.

Bugs.

"So, how's he doing?"

*H50*

Steve knew that voice. He'd heard it before, he was sure of it. He thought as hard as he could and suddenly, it came to him.

The voice belonged to a doctor, the one who had first treated him. Dr. Carter, if he remembered correctly. A large, black lieutenant commander with kind eyes and large hands. And if he wasn't mistaken, he was also the man who had drugged him while he was in the tube a few hours earlier.

And with that realization, it all came back to him: his men, their mission, and what exactly they were doing there. He relaxed as he finally remembered where "there" was.

North Africa.

_To be continued…._


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Danny looked surprised to see Bugs again, although the doctor wasn't sure why. He had told the detective he would be back in the evening to check on McGarrett, even earlier if he was called. Which he was. Not by Danny, but by Dr. Soon as soon as Steve's fever spiked while getting an MRI. He had crawled out of bed and hit the Starbuck's drive through on the way in, grabbing a double shot of espresso to help wake up. Less than thirty minutes later, he sat in Dr. Soon's office as they reviewed the test results together.

The picture wasn't pretty and Bugs was struck with the most unwanted sensation of deja vu. It hadn't taken much to convince Dr. Soon to let Bugs have Steve's case; after all, the other man was finishing a 16 hour shift, complete with four other patients who needed his attention. He was more than happy to let Bugs take over responsibility for McGarrett's care.

And now, standing in Steve's room, Bugs wished he had been called back a little sooner. Because McGarrett simply looked horrible. His condition had clearly deteriorated while Bugs was at home, sleeping, the stark visibility of which only confirmed what the blood tests and scans had told him. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation. At all.

"So, how's he doing?" Bugs asked, both as an icebreaker but also to gauge what Danny thought of his friend's condition. Sometimes, family and friends were in denial to the severity of the situation and he needed to know where he was starting from.

Danny looked at him incredulously. "Do you want my professional opinion on that, or one as his best friend?"

Bugs shrugged. "Either one is fine with me."

"That's good," Danny said, nodding. "Because both answers are exactly the same— he's doing crappy and things just keep getting crappier. We're in the ICU, for crying out loud," he said, his voice building as he waved his hands around the room dramatically. "It's hard to imagine it getting much worse."

Bugs nodded noncommittally to the response. He was fairly certain the blonde man was just blowing off steam. Steve had said he liked to complain about almost everything. And after a day like today, he was entitled to vent a little, or a lot. But on the bright side, at least Danny wasn't deluding himself. He knew things were snowballing downhill quickly.

The doctor walked to Steve's side, feeling his wrist for a pulse. It was unnecessary; all of Steve's vitals were displayed on the monitor behind his bed. But Bugs was old school; he liked to have actual physical contact with his patients. It made him feel more connected to them somehow. He was mildly surprised when McGarrett stirred to his touch, then slowly opened his eyes.

Bugs smiled in return and Danny jumped up from his chair, almost knocking it over in the process. He hastily drew near on the other side of the bed.

"How do you feel?" Bugs asked while simultaneously looking into McGarrett's eyes, trying to gauge his level of awareness.

Steve looked over and scrunched up his face in confusion, as if he couldn't make out the doctor's words. He licked his dry, cracked lips a few times before finally responding. "No more shots."

Now it was Bugs' turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

"You," Steve said weakly, "and the tube. No more shots."

Bugs' mind spun wildly before realization set in.

_Crap._

The doctor patted the commander's arm reassuringly. "Ok. No more shots." His response seemed to satisfy Steve, who drifted back into a troubled sleep, having never once looked Danny's way.

"What was that all about?" Danny demanded.

Bugs jerked his head to the right and Danny followed him the few feet to the door, out of Steve's earshot. "Has he been talking today, maybe mumbling in his sleep?" Bugs asked.

Danny nodded. "Some, but we couldn't make out most of it. But the radiology tech said he was going on about his gear, afraid he'd be in trouble for losing it." He snorted. "Hopefully, the Navy will forgive him for ditching it because he had a broken leg in the ocean."

"Did he specifically say what gear he lost?" Bugs asked him urgently.

Danny shrugged. "I think his rucksack and his vest. That's all I remember."

Bugs sighed, the information confirming what he already thought.

Danny apparently noticed. "Is that a problem?"

"It means the fever is making him delirious and he's possibly even reliving a past experience," Bugs replied. "One that was very similar to this one."

"Wait…" Danny interrupted. "Are you telling me Steve's jumped out of a plane and broken his leg before?"

Bugs shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. But his current condition does bear a certain resemblance to one eight years ago when I first met him."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Danny prompted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bugs stepped out in the hallway and returned seconds later with another chair. He sat down on it and nodded to the plastic one Danny had abandoned.

"You're going to want to sit down for this, Danny."

*H50*

"How much has McGarrett told you about his SEAL missions?" Bugs asked, his voice calm and low.

Danny snorted. "Absolutely nothing. He insists they're all classified." It had been a sore spot at first, but Danny had come to realize over the years that protecting national secrets was only part of the reason McGarrett kept quiet. The rest was simply because he didn't want the attention. And, ok, maybe a small part was also because he loved to drive Danny crazy.

Bugs smiled. "Well, most of them are. But I think I can fill you in on this one without compromising national security. That way, I'll only be breaking doctor patient confidentiality. I trust you not to turn me in?"

It was a joke, but there was an underlying hint of sincerity that made Danny uneasy. He had a distinct feeling he wasn't going to like what he was going to hear. But he nodded anyway.

"Ok, then." Bugs blew out a big breath, then started.

"Eight years ago, McGarrett's team was assigned to take out terrorist cells in North Africa. Over the course of a few months, they befriended the local children, who saw the SEALs as heroes. For Christmas, his team collected candy, trinkets, and small gifts for the kids and handed them out. But some of the locals didn't like it. They thought the SEALs were trying to buy their way into their children's hearts with candy and shiny stickers." He paused and shook his head sadly before continuing. "Anyway, his team was ambushed and Steve was injured badly while trying to get some children out of the crossfire."

Bugs paused again as the horror sunk into Danny's mind. Steve had been attacked while trying to save kids… the kids of the people attacking him. And over what? Some Sweet Tarts and a couple of Hello Kitty stickers? It was almost too much to believe.

"I was the surgeon on duty when his buddies brought him, barely alive," Bugs continued. "He had taken heavy fire to his left side and back, from his knee up past his waist. I got him prepped and immediately took him back to surgery. He had been hit multiple places so it took a while to patch him up. Six hours, in fact. I did the best I could, but his left kidney was seriously damaged, almost beyond what I could repair. But I finished the surgery and closed him up, hoping for the best."

Danny sat there, speechless. No wonder Steve never wanted to talk about his missions. Danny knew his partner, knew how he operated and that he had no concept of fear. The fact that he plunged head first into danger wasn't exactly a surprise. But the idea that Steve might not talk about his past because it was peppered with near-death experiences like this one never really crossed his mind. Steve was… well, Steve. A man of steel. Unstoppable. Invincible.

It took Danny a moment before he found his voice. "What happened?"

"We watched him, the other surgeons and I. His condition deteriorated quickly and when we took him back for an MRI the next day, he became agitated. I had to sedate him to finish the scan."

Danny quickly connected the dots. "Is that what Steve was talking about earlier? No more shots in the tube and all of that?"

Bugs nodded. "He thinks he's in North Africa. Not only because of the MRI flashback but because he talked about losing his vest. We didn't jump with vests last night, but he had one on when he was ambushed eight years ago. His buddies took it off in transit to help him breathe easier."

Danny sighed. It wasn't exactly the news he wanted to hear but at least it explained Steve's seemingly nonsensical mumbling.

"Look, it's just the fever talking," Bugs offered as a silver lining to what was a rather dark cloud. "He'll snap out of it eventually. But until we can get his fever under control and bring it down, he'll remain disoriented."

Danny nodded slowly. "So what happened next? Back in Africa?"

"We had a decision to make; a tough one." Bugs sighed. "His left kidney was in bad shape. We all agreed that the safest course of action was to remove it immediately. Two of the other surgeons began to scrub in while I went to break the news to McGarrett."

Danny stared, his mouth gaping as his mind reeled. _Steve only had one kidney? Why hadn't he ever mentioned it? _Granted, "hey, did you know I only have one kidney," wasn't a exactly a typical conversation starter, but still… they had been partners, they had been _friends_, for three years and Steve had never mentioned it? Not even _once_?

Bugs sat, waiting patiently as Danny processed the information. "So, you took it out?" he finally asked.

Bugs shook his head. "No. We didn't."

"But you said…" Danny's voice trailed off.

"I know. It was the safest course of action but Steve refused to give us consent. So we didn't do it."

Danny stared at his partner, trying to push down the anger that was building inside of him. "Why the hell not?"

"He was lucid," Bugs explained calmly. "As doctors, we are bound by ethics to honor the wishes of our patients."

"Even when they're idiotic?" he barked. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but really, the day had taken too much out of him to run his thoughts through a filter. Not that he ever bothered to do that much anyway.

"As long as the patient has control of his mental faculties, then yes."

"But why would he refuse?" Danny demanded, looking to Bugs for answers.

"He never said. But I think I know why." Bugs sighed before explaining. "The military assesses injuries and the resulting disabilities on a scale. Where someone falls on that scale determines what types of duties they can hold and even if they can remain in the service at all. Losing a kidney is considered a disability of at least thirty percent, which is too high to hold many jobs, including one as a SEAL. Steve probably would have been retired with a medical discharge."

"You mean the Navy would kick him to the curb for getting hurt on the job?" Danny practically exploded, not even trying to contain his anger or keep his voice down. The whole concept was simply unconscionable.

Bugs shook his head. "No. Only having one kidney disqualifies you from getting into the military, but if you're already there when you lose it, you can stay. But you just can't hold a combat position without a high level waiver. The risks are just too great. If something happened to him out in the field, and the remaining kidney was injured, there would be nothing we could do to save him."

"So if Steve wanted to stay in the Navy, he would have been forced to take a desk job?" Danny asked.

"Yes. And I think he saw taking his chances as preferable to that. He loved being a SEAL." Bugs blew out a large breath. "And if you want to know the real truth, Danny, I don't think he had anything else he wanted to live for."

Danny looked at Steve, lying there in the bed, unconscious and delirious with wires attached everywhere and his leg in a cage, and his anger dissolved, replaced by overwhelming sadness. It was hard to imagine Steve not having anything worth living for besides a job. But no, being a SEAL had been much more than a job to him. It had been his identity, his passion, even his self-worth. It had been his everything. And Danny was only beginning to comprehend how difficult it must have been for Steve to give it up.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he finally asked quietly.

"Because we're facing a similar decision now," Bugs explained.

Danny turned his to face the doctor, his brows knit in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Bugs looked Danny in the eye, his expression sorrowful. "The infection is in his bone, Danny," he said gently. "It's very aggressive and hasn't responded to treatment or antibiotics. We need to go in and clean it out so we can do a graft. It's going to be messy. And if the extent of the damage is too great, we might need to take his leg below the knee."

_No… no…. _

Bugs reached over and put a steading hand on Danny's shoulder, making Danny both grateful for the comfort but afraid of what the doctor would say next. If Bugs thought he needed some support, it was going to be bad.

And it was hard to imagine things getting any worse.

"Steve is obviously not in control of his faculties," Bugs finally said, saying the words slowly to allow them to sink in. "He can't make the decision for himself this time. He needs someone to do it for him. The personnel at Pearl went through his paperwork and found his military power of attorney." Bugs paused and blew out a breath before continuing. "He named you as his agent, Danny. It's up to you. It's your call."

Danny stared at Bugs, trying to absorb what he was saying. As if finding out Steve might lose his leg wasn't bad enough, now it was his decision. And McGarrett had never said a word about it. Never mentioned it, never said what he would want. Just signed a friggin' piece of paper and left Danny to figure it out for himself.

Danny looked back at Steve, still restless as he slept, and tried to blink back the tears that were forming against his will.

He hated him.

He really did.

Totally and completely. With a passion.

More than Hawaii, more than pineapple, more than anything else Danny could think of to hate.

Because Danny had never signed up for this.

He had never really signed up for any of this. Steve had commandeered him as his partner and somehow wormed his way into Danny's life.

And now look where he was now. Trying to decide if Steve would keep his leg or not. It was all on him.

It was a horrible position to be in with a horrible choice to make.

But really, it wasn't much of a choice at all. Danny didn't know what Steve had been thinking eight years ago and he certainly didn't know what he was thinking now.

But he did know one thing; Steve had a lot to live for. Of that he was certain.

He drew in a large breath and then slowly let it out. Then he turned to Bugs and nodded as a single rogue tear made its way down his face.

The words sounded surreal, even as they escaped his mouth.

"If it's the only way, then do it. Take his leg."

_To be continued…  
_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Bugs slowly pulled the cap off his head as he pushed through the OR doors several hours later. He had no idea how long they had been in there or even what time it was now. It could have been the middle of the night or even the next morning for all he knew. The surgery had been long and tedious and the infection had been as bad as they'd feared. But now they were done and McGarrett had been transferred to the recovery room for monitoring.

There was only one thing left for him to do—tell Detective Williams the outcome.

Bugs stripped off his paper gown and threw it in the biohazard waste bin. It was covered in blood: streaks, splatters, even huge soaking puddles. He was more than ready to get rid of the reminder of what he'd had to do over the past few hours.

He took the time to splash water on his face before heading for the waiting room. He was certain Danny would be there, regardless of the hour, most likely along with Steve's other work partners, Lieutenant Kelly and Officer Kalakaua. They had only met briefly, but Bugs had gotten the sense they were just as committed as Danny to staying there until the ordeal was over. He walked down the hall, rounded the corner to the room, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The waiting room was full.

The _entire_ waiting room.

The Five-0 team was sitting closest to the entrance, but all the other seats were filled as well. Wilson and Jennings were easy enough to pick out, along with the rest of the Navy reservists. They were still dressed in their BDUs and based on the bags under their eyes, they had come straight to Tripler after their training ended. Sprinkled in with them were several uniformed HPD officers as well as the ME, Max Bergman. Sitting next to him in a bright yellow t-shirt sat perhaps the largest man Bugs had even seen in his life and on the other side, a quiet looking Asian man who looked like the kind of guy that moms always want their daughters to bring home to dinner.

And there was no doubt they were all there for McGarrett; every single one of them had stood up when he entered, looking at him expectantly.

"A word, Detective Williams?" Bugs asked, looking his way and inclining his head toward the hallway.

Danny stepped forward, the exhaustion and stress of the past two days evident of his face. "You might as well tell me here, Bugs. I'll tell them anyway." Then he glanced over his shoulder, taking in the crowd.

"We're all Steve's family tonight."

*H50*

His ascent was slow.

He sensed consciousness, but it was too far away to grasp. He tried to run toward it, but his feet were mired in quicksand. He tried to swim up to it, but it was like swimming in oatmeal.

He was too exhausted to go any farther so he rested for a while. Then, he tried again.

His feet were lighter this time, his arms more free. The surface seemed close enough to touch, just there…

And he opened his eyes.

He blinked owlishly at the whiteness above him until it came into focus. Acoustic tiles- standard issue in hospitals and other buildings where practicality was more important than aesthetics. He wasn't sure what type of structure he was in but based on the grogginess, nausea, pain, and the fact that he was flat on his back, he was fairly certain a hospital was the winner.

He lowered his gaze and confirmed his suspicions. He was in a private room, which was nice: it was utilitarian and sterile but at least it offered him some privacy. He had never liked being injured; it always screamed of weakness and incompetence to him, even when that wasn't the case. At least without gawkers, he could lick his wounds in private.

Of course, that would require him to be alone, which he quickly realized he was not. Sitting in a chair by the window, snoring softly, was a very disheveled Danny Williams. Actually, disheveled was just the tip of the iceberg. Not only were his clothes wrinkled and his usually carefully styled hair a mess, but he had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping much. He was slouched in his chair with his head bent at an unnatural angle against the wall, all but guaranteeing a major crick in his neck when he woke up.

Which is exactly how much of Steve's body felt—kinked and sore. His muscles ached, protesting just lying there, useless, for far too long. It felt like he had been on an around-the-world flight without ever bothering to get up and stretch his legs. He moved gingerly, hoping to ease his taut muscles, and was rewarded by a spike in pain. He gritted his teeth and ran his right hand over the stiff sheets until he found what he was looking for: a pain pump button. He pressed the button and moaned, sinking back into his pillows.

Danny stirred, grimacing and rubbing the back of his neck, before he opened his bloodshot eyes, looking in Steve's direction. Upon seeing his partner was awake, he smiled, stiffly rose out of the chair, and walked the three feet to his bedside. "Hey."

"Hey," Steve replied, his voice scratchy and harsh. He licked his chapped lips. "What happened?"

Danny held a straw from a cup of water to Steve's mouth. "I'll tell you in a minute. But first, do you where you are?"

Steve took a long sip, thankful for the wet relief. "Hospital?"

"Which one?" Danny asked and he put the cup back down on the table.

_How was he supposed to know that? _Steve had just woken up, was already fighting off impending sleep, and his brain was total and complete mush and getting mushier by the moment. And Danny wanted to play 20 questions?

But stupid question or not, Danny was clearly expecting and answer. He might as well venture a guess. "Tripler?"

"Yes. And do you know I am?"

Steve looked at Danny, confused. "'Course, Danno."

"Good," Danny said with a curt nod, shoving his hands in his pockets and pressing his lips together. "That's good. Because I want you to have the proper context when I tell you that I hate you."

"Wha-"

"I hate you," Danny reiterated.

Steve stared at him, wondering what he had done to earn his partner's ire this time. With Danny, there was no telling. It could be anything from Steve tossing wet seaweed at him on the beach to getting Danny shot on a raid. But looking at his friend, he looked intact, so getting him shot was out. Well, probably. The detective was wearing long pants so really, there were no guarantees.

Still, Steve couldn't tell if Danny was serious or not and trying to figure it out was sapping what meager strength he had. Giving up, he finally decided just to ask. He opened his mouth but as he tried to form the words, they got stuck on his tongue. He gaped for a moment, but then he couldn't even remember what he was trying to ask in the first place. Danny was frowning down at him and his face was all getting all blurry. Steve tried to focus, but it didn't help as the room started spinning and the colors all swirled together, like a child's spin art painting. He heard a sigh as his eyes closed.

"Just sleep," he vaguely heard Danny say from a long distance away. "We'll talk about it the next time you wake up."

*H50*

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the next time he opened his eyes, he was able to keep them open for more than a few seconds.

He looked over to the chair to see Danny, who looked even more rumpled and tired than before. The detective stood up and came over to Steve's bedside and, for once, his face was completely unreadable.

"Still hate me?" Steve asked, remembering their brief conversation from earlier.

Danny nodded. "Yes. But we'll get to that in a minute." Then he smiled faintly. "But first, welcome back."

Steve frowned. He knew he'd been asleep for a long time but something in Danny's tone made it sound like more than that. "You say that like I've been somewhere else."

"You have. You've been out for a while, thanks to the drugs. And before that, you were high as a kite in the recovery room. But I'm guessing you don't remember that."

Steve shook his head. "No."

"I didn't think so," Danny said, grinning slightly. "I haven't seen you that loopy since you got run over by the golf cart."

Steve rolled his eyes, which Danny ignored, before the detective turned more serious.

"But before that, you thought you were in North Africa," Danny told him. "Eight years ago, in fact, right after the ambush. I knew you were a world traveler and all, but I didn't know you were a time traveler, too."

Steve's eyes narrowed. He did his best to never think about North Africa and the harrowing weeks that followed. "How do you know about that?"

Danny shrugged. "You were mumbling about it so Bugs filled me in. He told me that you were injured there and that's how you two met."

Steve pursed his lips, his anger beginning to simmer. He never liked talking about his injuries and he sure didn't like it when others talked about them behind his back, especially when the source of the information was his doctor, his _friend_. He would have words with Bugs later.

Danny's face was solemn. "Did you have other missions like that? Is that why you always tell me they're classified?"

Steve looked away. "No comment," he said brusquely.

The silence and tension hung in the room around them until Danny finally spoke. "Look, he told me everything. I know about all of it. I know about the kidney."

_What the hell?_ Steve glared at Danny, his anger now burning full force. "He had no right."

"Maybe not," Danny conceded. "But he told me anyway, and for good reason."

"And what reason was that?"

"He wanted me to know what you thought about losing a part of your body."

"Because…"

Danny looked Steve straight in the eye, intently, like he really needed his partner to listen, to understand. "Because I had to make the same choice for you."

Steve tried to process the information, but it didn't make any sense. Then he remembered; the jump, the ocean, and the horrific break. An icy chill shot through his spine. "My leg?" he asked.

Danny nodded. "And by the way, thanks for _not_ telling me about the military Power of Attorney," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That was a really pleasant surprise."

Steve's breath caught in his chest. He struggled to raise his head and looked down the length of his body, trying to see his legs. But they were covered by blankets, undoubtedly trying to keep him warm in this icebox they called a hospital. He thought he felt both legs, _pain _in both legs, but was it just phantom pain? Was his leg really gone?

"It's still there," Danny said, seemingly reading his mind and letting him off the hook.

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled a sigh of relief, sinking back into his pillows. _Thank God…_

"But there's something I need you to know."

Steve's eyes popped back open and he looked over at Danny. "What's that?"

"I told Bugs he could take it if he needed to."

Steve stared at Danny, who didn't look uncomfortable or embarrassed at all. His posture was sure and his gaze was intense, boring directly into Steve's eyes. It was clear Danny needed him to understand this point. That he had made the call. That he wasn't sorry. And that, if needed, he would do it again.

Steve didn't know how to respond. Danny had clearly had time to think about this, to process, but it had all been dumped into Steve's lap in a matter of seconds.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Danny with his life; he did, and on a daily basis. There was nobody he would rather have at his six.

But Steve had always thought that if the POA was ever needed, it would be because he was dead and Danny would disseminate his estate, making sure Cath, Mary, and his mom were taken care of. It never crossed his mind that his partner would be deciding whether or not it was ok to chop off body parts.

And not just any body part, his leg... his _leg_. Necessary for running and swimming and plain old _walking_. Short of losing his sight, Steve couldn't think of anything that would be more traumatic to lose. Sure, he would adapt and adjust over time; he had seen plenty of servicemen lose limbs and go on to lead full lives. And if the situation was reversed, Steve would make the exact same call for Danny.

But still, it was Steve's leg. Not Danny's.

_His_ leg. _His_ life.

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?" Danny asked, interrupting Steve's contemplation.

Steve shook his head. "No."

Danny sighed. "Ok, care to tell me what you were thinking eight years ago, when you wouldn't let the doctors take your kidney?"

Steve looked away, hoping Danny would get the message that the topic was off limits.

He didn't. Either that or he did get it but didn't care because he pressed on anyway.

Danny leaned over, resting his forearms on the bedrails. "Bugs has a theory," he said, his voice softening. "He thinks maybe you didn't have anything outside of the Navy, outside of the SEALs, that you wanted to live for. Is that true?"

Steve bit his lip, still looking away. Danny had no right to be asking him these questions, especially right after he woke up from a major surgery. He felt like crap, he was exhausted beyond belief, and now Danny was asking him about one of the worst times of his life. Steve was tempted to deck him but he knew that: one, he didn't have the strength to do it, at least not properly; and two, Danny was just trying to help.

Not that it felt like help at the moment. Instead, it felt like a gutting. And from his partner and best friend, of all people. Talk about kicking a man while he was down.

But it was clear Danny wasn't going to give up. Steve didn't know how many minutes had passed, but Danny still stood by the bed, patiently waiting for an answer.

Finally, Steve nodded minutely.

Danny sighed. "I hope you know that's not the case anymore. Lots of people care about you. Cath. Me. Chin. Kono. Max. Kamekona. Not to mention your mom and sister and the dozens of people who stayed up all night in the waiting room for you."

Steve continued to stare at the wall, pointedly avoiding his friend's gaze. Danny reached out and grasped him firmly on the arm. "You are not alone, Steve. And we wouldn't care if you were missing your leg or your kidney or not."

Steve knew Danny was right. Things were much different now than they had been in North Africa. Back then, he had been alone, except for his Navy buddies. The SEAL unit was like a family, and it was the only family Steve felt like he had at the time. If he'd been retired or taken a desk job, sure, he'd still see his buddies once in a while. Maybe harass each other via text messages or phone calls. But in the end, they would have ultimately drifted apart and Steve would have been left without all of his friends and a job he lived for. He would have been alone, with no purpose, no passion.

And now… well, now he had a lot more. A home. Cath. His friends. His mom. His sister. And a job he loved that they couldn't take away from him.

Losing a leg wouldn't change any of that. Not one single thing.

Steve nodded slowly as the realization dawned on him. Then he looked over at Danny. If Steve had doubted his partner's words, his continual presence spoke volumes. Every time Steve woke up, Danny was there. At first, exhausted and a bit mad. Now, concerned and giving Steve the equivalent of a touchy-feely male bonding talk, without the aid of a few beers or the confines of the Camaro, either of which would ease the uncomfortableness of the situation considerably.

But still, Danny was there. Always there.

Just like the others.

Steve wasn't alone.

Not anymore.

The thought made him smile. "I'm surprised you didn't say everyone wouldn't care if I was missing my brain or not."

The corner of Danny's mouth turned up in a half-grin. "It was hard to pass up," he countered, "but I was being nice since you're in the hospital and all. But now that you've brought it up, it wouldn't matter because it wouldn't be any different. You've been missing your brain for as long as I've know you."

"How considerate of you," Steve said, chuckling. "So, tell me. What's next?"

"You rest up for a few days while the docs make sure all the infection is gone. Then Bugs will do a bone graft to replace the infected bone he took out of your leg. He said after six months of physical therapy, you should be as good as new."

Steve sighed. It wasn't the best news, but it wasn't horrible, either. It would be hard and painful, but he would make it. And actually, the physical part might be the easiest part for him to get through. The idea of limited mobility was disappointing to say the least. He hated crutches, abhorred wheelchairs, and couldn't stand not driving. "Well, I guess I can learn to drive the Camaro with my left leg," he mused.

Danny shook his head. "No. No way. But you'll be glad to know, I've been working on some solutions to help you get around more easily."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Such as?"

Danny grinned. "My first choice is a wheelchair with a turbo on the back. But if that doesn't work out, I'm thinking of attaching police lights and sirens to a Segway."

Steve laughed. "Well, I can't wait to see what you come up with."

"I'll check out all of the options once I get some sleep," Danny said with a yawn.

"You do look tired," Steve offered. Hell, he was pretty tired himself and he'd just woken up. "How long have you been awake?"

Danny shrugged. "I don't know. How long has it been since you kamikazied into the ocean?"

"Go home and get some sleep, Danny. I'm fine."

Danny nodded, yawning again. "I will. Kono's going to be here any minute; she went to your place to pick up a few things. Then Chin's coming by after that, so I'm going home to sleep for the rest of the eternity."

Steve nodded. "It sounds like you've earned it." Then he caught Danny's eye, looking at him sincerely. "Thanks, Danny."

He meant it in more way than one. And he knew Danny would understand that.

Danny nodded back and smiled. "That's what family is for, Babe."

_To be continued…_

* * *

A/N #1: We are almost there! Just a short epilogue to go and we will be done.

A/N #2: Have you guys seen the previews with Chi McBride, the new SWAT team leader? If he had very short, cropped hair, he would look exactly like how I picture Bugs!

A/N #3: The reference to Steve getting run over by a golf cart is from "A Cracked Mind," written years ago by one of my lovely betas, Cokie316. If you need a laugh today, go read it. You won't be sorry. :)

A/N #4: I debated putting this A/N in all day and finally decided "what the heck." But I did seriously consider writing an AU ending of this where Steve *did* lose his leg. If that is something that would interest you, drop me a note. I'm not sure if time would permit even me to do so, (because let's face it, that's a long story- you can't just chop off someone's leg and be finished in 3,000 words), but I might have some time as I continue to play a waiting game until the next phase of my life starts. And I'll be honest, I'd only write it if I know (a lot of) people would read (and review) it. So, if that sounds like your cup of tea, tell me. And if you'd prefer me to write something else if time permits, tell me that, too. I do aim to please. ;)


	14. Epilogue

A/N: This is it, guys! Thanks so much for reading and especially reviewing over the summer. Also, thanks for the feedback re: the AU ending. I'm still not sure if I am going to write it or not (I'm leaning towards not). I do think it's an intriguing idea that could lend itself to a ton of character study for everyone involved but I'm not sure I have the time or the stomach for writing it.

And in case I don't have time to write in the future, I wanted to say that I have really enjoyed spending the last 2-3 years with you guys. You have brightened my day many times and for that, I thank you.

With all that said, here is the end of the story. I hope you enjoy it. :)

* * *

Epilogue

_Eight weeks later_

"Here you go," the smiling waitress told them, leading Steve and Danny to a large glass top table on the almost deserted lanai. Steve hobbled behind her, still getting used to his crutches in place of the wheelchair, while Danny walked alongside. He pulled out a chair once they got there and Steve plopped down, nodding his thanks and laying the crutches on the ground underneath. The waitress handed each of them a happy hour menu before she left. They set the menus aside.

"Fancy place," Danny commented as he looked around the clubhouse overlooking the rolling greens of the Navy Marine golf course. "Think they even serve Longboards here?"

Steve laughed. "It's Hawaii, Danny. They serve Longboards everywhere."

"Well, I can see why Bugs likes it," Danny replied, squinting as he took in the palm trees and lush, deep green grass.

"Speak of the devil, there he is." Steve waved his hand to get Bugs' attention. The doctor climbed out of his golf cart and waved back, taking his glove off and tucking it into his golf bag before heading up the steps to join them.

Danny grabbed the waitress' attention and ordered three Longboards before Bugs joined them at the table, grinning broadly.

"You guys been waiting long?" Bugs asked, shaking both of their hands before taking a seat.

"No. We just got here," Steve said, glad to see his friend again. In the weeks since the accident, he had gone from seeing the good doctor daily, if not hourly, to just once every week or two when they crossed paths in the hospital. Once the bone graft was completed, Steve had been discharged from Bugs' care to an orthopedist and left to the mercies of an overzealous physical therapist. Which, in all honesty, was how Steve liked them. The sooner he regained full mobility, the sooner he could put the ordeal behind him.

The waitress returned, placed paper napkins in front of them, and set an ice cold Longboard on each one before disappearing again.

"So, don't keep me is suspense," Bugs cajoled, trying to look underneath the table. "Let me see it."

Steve grinned and gingerly moved his right leg from under the table into plain view. After weeks with an external fixator, it felt heavenly to be rid of the contraption and wear a pair of cargo pants again.

"You mind?" Bugs asked, looking at Steve for permission.

Steve shrugged. "Not really." He pulled his pants leg up, knowing what Bugs was really wanting to see—how his leg had healed. And the answer was not bad. He still had an ugly scar where the bone had protruded through his leg, but it was fading, it's jagged line more of a dark pink then red. Considering how hairy things had been for a while, it was remarkable that a scar and a pronounced limp were the only reminders he had of the events eight weeks ago. And both of them would fade, given enough time, leaving Steve with nothing but a training story worthy of telling on any Navy outing.

Bugs nodded appreciatively. "Nice."

"Thanks to you," Steve nodded.

Bugs shrugged nonchalantly. "Right place, right time. You know how it goes."

Danny snorted. "I think your definition of right place, right time needs some adjusting."

Bugs laughed, picking up his Longboard as he settled back into his seat. "You may be right on that one."

Steve pulled his pant leg back down and picked up his beer again, taking a long pull and thinking about how he couldn't disagree more. He wouldn't be here without the doctor; he was sure of that. And even though the older man brushed off all attempts at thanks, Steve was glad Bugs had agreed to let them buy him a few rounds of beer, taking them up on an offer Danny had made weeks ago.

"So how's it going?" Bugs asked.

"Are you asking as my doctor or my friend?" Steve countered.

"How about both?"

"Ok. Well, as my doctor, things are going fine. As my friend, it's driving me crazy."

"If it makes you feel any better, it's driving me crazy, too, and you've only been back at work a week," Danny chimed in with a grin. "You're not exactly pleasant when you can't get around."

"Well, that's your fault because you won't let me drive the Camaro," Steve grumbled.

"No, that's your fault because you wouldn't approve the expense for the Segway," Danny corrected, then took a sip of his beer.

"That's because it was close to ten grand after taxes and shipping. In case you haven't heard, finances are tight. I couldn't spend that money in good consciousness." Even though a part of Steve had really wanted to. Still, he was a servant of the state of Hawaii and it was a responsibility he took seriously. Guns, ammo, tactical vests; all were necessary to protect the citizens. The only thing the Segway was necessary for was to protect his sanity (and maybe Danny's) for a few weeks. It was no contest. Although, he had to admit, the lights and sirens would have been cool.

"Well, then, I guess it's a good thing we never submitted an expense report for this." Danny put down his beer and placed his fingers in his mouth, letting out a loud whistle. Seconds later, Kamekona appeared from around the corner, driving a shiny white golf cart, complete with flashing lights and the blue and gold Five-0 logo emblazoned on its hood. Walking behind him were all of his friends, all of the people who had stood behind him since the accident: Chin, Kono, Max, Duke, Fong, Wilson, Jennings, the rest of the Navy reserve team, and even some of his SEAL friends and superiors in the Navy. Even Catherine had managed to get approval to skip duty for the afternoon to join them.

Steve grabbed his crutches and awkwardly stood up, not quite believing his eyes. "What's this?"

"This," Danny said, smiling and gesturing toward the golf cart, "is your new ride."

Steve laughed as he took in tricked-out cart. "What? No siren?"

"Kamekona, hit it!" Danny yelled. Kame nodded, hit a button, and the cart emitted one of the loudest whooping sirens Steve had ever heard.

Steve laughed again. "This is just a ploy to keep me from driving the Camaro, isn't it?" he asked, looking over at Danny and grinning as the group made their way up the stairs to join them on the lanai.

"You know it."

"But how? I never approved this expense."

"We all chipped in," Danny replied, then clapped Steve on the shoulder. "Just go easy on it. I might want to buy it back from you in a few years when Grace needs a car."

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd love it. A very conspicuous and easy to tail golf cart that won't go over ten miles per hour. It'll be impossible for her to get away with anything."

Danny grinned. "That's the idea."

Every member in the crowd stopped by to talk, hug, or fist bump Steve before they took seats, filling up half the lanai. Catherine, Chin, and Kono joined Steve, Danny, and Bugs at their table.

Steve wrapped his arm around Cath and took a sip of his beer before he put it down, looking at Danny sincerely. "Thanks, man. This is perfect."

Danny grinned mischievously. "You're welcome. Just remember, I already bought the first round," he said, lifting his beer up in the air, "so now you get to buy the second."

"I'm not really sure that's fair," Steve chided him half-heartedly as he looked at the thirty some-odd people clustered around, talking and laughing. "You and Bugs made that deal while I was out of it. I'm not sure it counts."

Bugs laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Well, we can put you back in the ocean if you'd rather switch places."

Steve glanced at the decked-out golf cart then swept his eyes around the room. Some of his dearest friends were there, along with some more recent acquaintances. But old or new, they had one thing in common; they had stuck with him during the past weeks and months, supporting him the whole way.

They were his friends, his family. And he was happy to repay the favor, no matter how small the beginning was.

Steve pulled Cath a little closer and she nestled into his shoulder. Then he smiled. "No, man. I'm good."

Because the truth of the matter was, he wouldn't switch places for the world.

_The end_


End file.
